Perspective
by Booklady
Summary: A new skill causes Draco Malfoy to rethink some long held opinions.
1. Chapter 1

"Urrghhh."

Ah yes, the biting wit of the Malfoys. Draco lay still, nerving himself to open his eyes, trying to decide if he felt more sixteen or more dead. He always knew Pansy made a mean margarita, but last night she had really surpassed herself. And then Blaise had had some kind of potion…

"Urrghhh," Draco reiterated, and managed to pry his eyes open. To his grateful surprise, his head did not explode with new pain. The grinding ache with which he had woken was quite enough to deal with, he felt.

After another brief period of recuperation, he clambered arthritically out of bed and headed for the bathroom. A shower, a hangover potion, and a brushing of his teeth brightened his morning beyond all measure, and he dressed in some of his new clothes feeling the full return of his birthday mood.

"Good morning, Draco," his mother said with a small smile when he arrived at the breakfast table. "I rather expected you to sleep a little longer."

"Good morning, mother." Draco stretched. "No, it's too nice a day. I'm going riding."

"Your father wants to speak to you this morning," she told him, and returned to her breakfast. Draco finished his own in a haze of speculation.

_Firebolt? Access to another family vault? A new horse? Or is he angry about something…did he find out about Blaise's potions book -- !_

Lucius Malfoy was waiting for Draco in his study. He smiled as Draco came in and motioned him to the couch before the fire. This was a relief to Draco; it usually meant his father was not displeased with him. Displeased meant the unforgiving chair in front of the desk.

"I trust you enjoyed your delayed birthday celebration," Lucius said, coming to sit in the plush armchair to Draco's right.

"Very much," said Draco, not necessarily wanting to discuss the details of the party his friends had thrown for him.

"Good. You're becoming a man, and an acceptable Malfoy," said Lucius. Draco winced internally. "This summer you will be receiving some advanced tutoring in certain Arts which are shamefully neglected at that school. If you do well, you shall receive a reward before the start of the new term."

"Thank you, Father," Draco murmured, seething with curiosity. He liked his rewards clearly defined, but his father did not believe in unnecessary details before time.

"Certain…associates of mine will be watching your progress with great attention," said Lucius.

"I see," said Draco. "Thank you, Father."

"Make me proud," said Lucius. He smiled coolly at his son. "Your tutor will be here Monday next. You may have the week to prepare yourself."

"Thank you, Father," Draco repeated. His father nodded and waved him out of the study.

Draco went out to the stables and saddled his horse, then rode out into the grounds behind the manor, his mind churning.

_Wonderful. School during the holidays. Still, it could be good…I could come back and finally have the best of Potter._

_Oh, yes, Draco. That was what, three hours you went without thinking about him? This is not healthy. You're getting obsessed. How dare Potter absorb my focus like that! I'm a Malfoy! He's dust beneath my feet!_

_Well, okay, not really. More like the thorn in my side. Or possibly the_ crashing migraine _that_ refuses to go away! _I'd better learn_ something _this summer to squash that Muggle-loving Golden Boy. This is too aggravating._

As he continued his ride, Draco occupied his very vivid imagination with scenes of Potter finally in his proper place, thoroughly beaten and under the thumb of one Draco Malfoy.

_I could put him under Imperious and make him lick my shoes…or tell the Mudbloods how pathetic they are…or snog the Weasel…no, wait._ That annoyed him for some reason.

_I could zap him with butterfingers every time he came near a snitch! Or – or make him quit Quidditch – no, that would be boring. Hmmm. I could send invisible boggarts to follow him everywhere…_"

It was a very enjoyable ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco's afternoon was enlivened by a fire call from Blaise Zabini, who looked him over with a gaze even more peculiarly intense than usual.

"What is it, Blaise?" Draco demanded. "By the way, you look terrible."

"Thanks," said Blaise. "You don't. Did you have a hangover this morning?"

Draco shrugged. "A bit of one. I meant to talk to you about that; didn't you give us all hangover potions last night?"

Blaise nodded rather jerkily. "But someone didn't get theirs. I had one vial left, and a vial of something else missing."

A chill invaded Draco's belly. "What was missing?"

Blaise blinked. "Just an experiment. I was trying to brew a potion for – " He broke off. "But you're fine," he added after a minute. "No particular hangover? You're not sick?"

"No hangover _now_," said Draco coldly. "Because when I woke up I took a potion. What were you thinking, leaving your experiments about where anyone could pick them up? And what _exactly_ was this potion of yours supposed to do?"

"It doesn't work," said Blaise.

"What is it, Blaise?" Draco growled.

Blaise swallowed. He couldn't really turn pale, per se, but he looked as though he'd be paper white if he weren't so dark. "It's a Legilimency potion," he said. "With a touch of Imperius thrown in. But I told you, it doesn't work. The spells don't seem to translate well to potion form. I have to try a new combination of ingredients."

Draco took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'd better send me a copy of what you put in this one," he said. "I want to make sure to head off any side effects." He glared at Blaise.

"I thought you'd say that," said Blaise, and handed him a parchment through the fire. Draco took it and doused the fire immediately, before Blaise could say anything else.

"Damned idiot," he muttered, striding down to his potions lab, just above the dungeon level. "How could he be so careless? If he's poisoned me I'll…" A number of agreeably horrific ideas paraded through his mind as he arrived in the lab and began to analyze the notes Blaise had given him.

At the end of an hour, he was slightly baffled. As far as he could tell, there was no reason Blaise's potion shouldn't work. All the properties of the ingredients were right, and took the magical charge he sank into them just fine. He looked thoughtfully at the russet liquid seething in his cauldron and tried to decide if it looked familiar, but his memory of last night was just too hazy.

Then he sniffed it. And reeled back, rubbing his stinging nose.

Oh, yes, this was what he'd drunk!

A Legilimency potion, with a touch of Imperius thrown in…hmmm. Blaise must have tested it, or he wouldn't be so sure it didn't work. Draco gave the new batch another speculative glance, then shook his head and decanted it into a bottle. He'd find out how Blaise had tested it before he tried anything himself.

Blaise, when applied to via fire call, said, "I tried it on Dozy."

"You fed it to a house elf?" Draco said, incredulous. "What if it had worked?"

Blaise shrugged. "What if it had? Dozy isn't going to use it against me. Anyway, it didn't work."

"It should have, though," said Draco. "Your theory is sound. I made a batch here, even. What were you doing it for, your potions project?"

Blaise looked surprised and gratified. "Yeah. You think it could work?"

"It should. House elves are a lot different from wizards, you know. It might just not mix with their magic."

"I started over, with some different ingredients –" Blaise began.

"Let me know how it goes," Draco said rather absently, and ended the call in the middle of Blaise's sentence.

_Legilimency, with a touch of Imperius. I won't even have to cast an unforgivable. I can get right into Potter's head and…_

_Dammit! I can't let him take over my life like this! Pansy's right, it's getting ridiculous._

_Pansy. I could get into _her _head and….._

_Ewww._

He shook his own head. "First things first," he said aloud, glancing at his watch. "See if the dose I already took works. Izzy!"

A house elf appeared, cringing and pulling its ears. "Yes, Master Draco?"

Draco stared into its enormous eyes. It stared back, looking more and more nervous as the silence stretched. Try as he might, though, Draco had no inkling of anything the elf might actually be thinking. Testing the Imperius bit on a house elf was, of course, pointless anyway.

"Go away, Izzy," he growled, and the elf disappeared, looking cautiously relieved.

"So…maybe it just doesn't work with house elves, full stop," Draco muttered, scribbling on Blaise's notes. "Their tiny little brains can't handle it or something. Or do I have to know how to cast Legilimens?"

This caused a detour to the manor library for a certain spell book. Draco had come across it the previous week when researching for his DADA essay. He'd meant to get back to it, but then his birthday had come along, and he'd been sidetracked.

"Spells of the heart, spells of the voice, spells…of…aha! Spells of the mind," he muttered, flicking pages. "Occlumency – that looks useful. Illusory thought…Imperius. Legilimency!" Quickly he read the instructions.

"Shouldn't be too hard," he decided, after a while.

"What shouldn't be too hard?" came his father's voice from the doorway.

Draco started violently. "Uh – just a spell," he said, turning to face his father and schooling the shock out of his face. His father preferred an emotionless demeanor.

"What spell would that be?" Lucius Malfoy inquired, directing his eyes at the book half-hidden at Draco's side.

Should he confess? Draco dithered for a heart stopping moment over whether his initiative in researching a spell that could be used to bring one's inferiors low would balance against the fact that his father didn't like him using the library without permission. Lucius guarded his secrets jealously.

"Draco." The cold voice broke the momentary silence.

"Legilimency," said Draco, bracing himself unobtrusively.

To his vast relief, Lucius gave him a small wintry smile. "I see. You're thinking ahead. Well done, Draco. My Lord will be pleased."

W_onderful_, Draco thought. _I can kill two house elves with one stone._ "Thank you, father," he said aloud.

Lucius nodded and came further into the library, going to his desk. Draco took this as his cue to leave, still clutching the book.

He had time to put the book in his room, and then he had to change for dinner. Dinner in the Malfoy household, when there were no guests, was a silent and formal affair. Draco spent it plotting ways to try out Legilimency on people instead of house elves. "Pansy and Blaise, thank you for volunteering," he said to himself with an inner grin.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, once ready for bed, Draco picked up the spell book for a more thorough perusal of the Legilimency spell. It seemed simple enough: flick of the wand, a murmur of "_Legilimens_," and a sort of mental push, and you were reading somebody's mind. You could look at surface thoughts, or file through old memories. The more emotional your target was, the easier the spell would be.

_And everyone knows Potter wears his heart on his sleeve…_

_Dammit!_

_But who am I kidding? I know whose mind I _really _want to read…and if I can throw in a touch of_ _Imperius…oh, the possibilities!_

He pushed from his mind the vague memory of a rumor that Potter had always been able to throw off the Imperius curse. It couldn't really be true anyway; the whole point of Imperius was that no one could resist it. Draco himself still cringed inwardly at the memory of his own behavior under Moody's Imperius in fourth year.

_Anyway…_

He read on. Occlumency was the art of resisting mental intrusions, and seemed to consist mainly of clearing one's mind and holding it clear. Draco was good at that; he had long perfected the habit of ignoring things he found unacceptable. He certainly found the idea of someone rummaging about in his head unacceptable!

He flicked his wand experimentally. "Legilimens!" A short dizzy spell ensued, he supposed because he hadn't had a particular target in mind when he said the charm. The wand movement was easy enough. This would be simple to learn, and then Potter would truly be at his mercy. Draco's father would be pleased, too, and that was a circumstance not to be scorned.

He drifted off to sleep, thinking of his father's proud expression when Draco showed himself the master of Potter.

Hours later, deep in the night, he sat up in bed, feeling a vague push at the back of his mind. Was there somewhere he needed to be? Was he late? He climbed out of bed, then glanced back to retrieve his robe from the foot of it and saw – himself. Lying on his side, peacefully asleep.

He looked down his body. He looked perfectly solid. He swung a hand at the bedpost, and watched without much surprise as it went right through.

He was out of his body, obviously.

The push was stronger now. Draco let himself drift ahead of it, and found himself leaving his room and heading down the hall at a swift glide. He had been out of his body before and wasn't too worried…yet…but he did cast a quick "lumos," just to be sure he could use magic in this state. He was quite relieved to find he could.

Now he was approaching a door, at speed. He flinched reflexively as he flashed through it, his pace starting to pick up alarmingly. His surroundings were blurred by the speed, but he was pretty sure he recognized his parents' bedroom. This had hardly entered his mind when his progress took on a sudden plunging rush, then stopped dead.

Draco opened the eyes he had squeezed shut and looked around.

He was in a clearing in a forest, standing next to a bonfire. Looking down at himself once more, he saw that he was wearing a pale cloak and gloves. Lifting his hand to his face, he discovered the slight interference with his vision was in fact a mask.

Robe and a mask…with a jolt, he looked around and saw several other people, also robed and masked, standing around the fire with him. They seemed to be waiting for something. His own stomach knotted in anticipation…but not fear. He just knew that whatever was about to happen would be something good for him. He basked in the warmth of the fire against the slight chill of the night air, and smiled a little.

After a few minutes, there was a stir near the fire, and a balding man who seemed to move with a permanent cringe appeared. He was cradling something in both arms; Draco saw the gleam of silver.

_Wormtail, _he thought to himself. _Miserable beast. Hardly deserving of the great honor the Dark Lord bestows upon him. I don't know how my Lord can even stand his company._

_Wait,_ what?

The air stirred again, and a tall thin figure appeared beside the man Draco had so inexplicably identified as Wormtail. It was swathed from head to foot in a luxurious black cloak.

_Ah, so he appreciates my gift, _Draco's thoughts continued, and a glow of pride made him stand up even straighter_. He will appreciate me even more when he sees how well Draco is doing in his training._

With a sort of mental wrench, Draco realized he was in his father's head – his father's dream, to be exact. That must be Voldemort, then – the Dark Lord in person. Draco peered eagerly at the tall figure, but he could make out no details because of the cloak. That was disappointing; Draco was quite keen for information about the Lord who was going to bring the purebloods back to the position of power they so deserved and rid them of the pervasive Muggle presence in the wizarding world.

Then the figure spoke. "Lucius Malfoy," the Dark Lord said. The voice was high and cold, but Lucius – and therefore Draco – was not put off by this at all. "I hear you have good news for me."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lucius' voice. Draco touched his throat curiously.

"Speak, then."

"I have obtained the last ingredient you required for the Adamant potion," said Lucius, drawing a crystal vial out of the pocket of his robe.

"Ahhh," breathed the Dark Lord. "Well done, Lucius, my most faithful servant."

_Servant? A _Malfoy?

"You shall be rewarded," the Dark Lord continued. "Come, stand beside me."

Lucius moved to Voldemort's side. Up close, Draco could see a red gleam of eyes far back in the darkness of the cloak's hood. _That_ wasn't half creepy.

Lucius took no notice, though. "Thank you, my Lord," he murmured. Draco felt an anticipatory thrill running through him as Voldemort gestured to Wormtail, who set down the bundle he'd been holding and began to unroll it.

"Mmmm, darling," Draco heard suddenly, and without warning he was looking at his mother's face at close range. Her eyes were closed. He actually felt her press against Lucius' body in her sleep, and Lucius' reaction as he woke up a little more.

"Aaaack! No!" Draco cried aloud, horrified, as he felt the curve of his mother's shoulder under his father's hand. "Stop!"

The stroking hand stopped. Draco felt a wave of confusion, which after a moment he worked out was being felt by Lucius.

Was this the Imperius bit at work? Could he give commands to his _father?_

"Ummmm – order raspberries tomorrow," Draco babbled, trying to push the command into his father's mind. To his horror, Lucius sat up in bed, drawing his wand and glaring around the room. Draco saw through his eyes as he inspected every dark corner, then looked back down at Draco's mother.

Her eyes were half open, and she was smiling at him – at Lucius – in a very sultry way. "Bad dream, darling?" she purred, reaching up.

"I suppose," Lucius murmured, lowering his wand and reaching for her.

Draco, who could feel everything his father was feeling, squawked. "Oh no! I can't watch this! Get me out of here!"

Nothing happened, except that Lucius kissed his wife. Draco cringed. Merlin, he was going to be scarred for life!

"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted desperately. To his immeasurable relief, he felt a repeat of the plunging rush that had landed him in his father's head, and moments later he bolted upright, in his own head and his own bed once more.

"There will be no end to the therapy," he murmured weakly, flopping back down on his pillows and wiping his brow.

Now he just had to wait and see if Lucius, who hated raspberries, ordered them for breakfast.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco awoke the next morning with a headache that felt exactly like a railroad spike being driven through the crown of his head by a mountain troll. He was afraid to move with the way his stomach lurched, and opening his eyes was clearly out of the question. This was worse than any hangover he'd ever had.

"Izzy," he croaked.

The pop as the elf appeared reverberated through his skull. "Yes, master Draco?" the elf squeaked.

Draco moaned through clenched teeth. "Painkilling potion and hangover potion, quickly, Izzy."

Izzy scurried off, returning moments later to raise Draco's head tenderly from the pillow so he could down the two potions. There was an awful moment when Draco was sure he was about to turn inside out, but the potion kicked in and the horrible feeling subsided. He dropped back onto the pillow with a gasp of relief.

"Is Master Draco better?" Izzy asked.

"Yes, Izzy," Draco murmured. His head no longer hurt, but it felt tender, as though quick moves would still be a bad idea.

"Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa are waiting at breakfast," Izzy told him, and Draco bolted upright. His head spun for a moment, but he ignored that and staggered out of bed toward the bathroom.

"Let them know I'll be right there," he told Izzy as he began to wash. He barely heard the pop as Izzy vanished.

His parents were at the breakfast table when he arrived there fifteen minutes later, properly dressed but aware he was not looking his best. His mother gave him a slightly worried look. She was dressed in deep pink robes this morning. One might almost call them –

"God morning," Draco said faintly, dropping into his chair. "I apologize for my lateness. I overslept."

"Are you unwell?" his father asked in tones of mild interest.

"No," said Draco, looking down at his plate as Boppy (named by Draco himself at the age of two) placed it in front of him. His pancakes were indeed garnished with raspberries.

Draco looked up swiftly at his father. Lucius' pancakes were garnished with blueberries, for the most part, but Draco spotted a few raspberries mixed in. He gulped. He'd actually Imperio'd his father!

"Breakfast is lovely this morning," said Narcissa, daintily swallowing a raspberry.

"Indeed," said Lucius, frowning slightly as he chewed a raspberry of his own. "I wanted a change."

"Mmmm," said Draco, who loved raspberries.

"Did you sleep well, Draco?" Lucius asked suddenly.

"Mmmm," Draco repeated, since his mouth was full. Also, his father was frowning, which always boded extremely ill.

"You were not disturbed at all?"

Draco swallowed the mouthful of pancake, which suddenly felt as big as his own hand, and shook his head, trying to look puzzled rather than terrified. "Not at all," he said. "Why, were you?"

"I could have sworn someone intruded last night," said Lucius, returning to his breakfast. "But the wards were quiet."

"Perhaps you just had a bad dream," Draco suggested, cursing himself when his father looked at him sharply.

"Perhaps," Lucius said slowly, giving Draco a slow, keen look. "Still, be alert. I will be strengthening the wards, as well."

"Thank you for letting me know," said Draco in a more subdued voice. "Ah – father, I meant to invite Pansy and Blaise here for lunch. Will that be permitted?"

"Yes," said Lucius after a moment. "They are hardly a danger to us."

Draco decided discretion was the better part of valor, and offered no more conversation during the rest of the meal. His mother, too, ate in silence. She looked slightly more tired than usual. Draco's mind shied away from the probable reason for this, as well as his father's vaguely smug air.

He fire called Blaise directly after breakfast. "Come here for lunch," he ordered. "Bring all your notes on that potion, too."

Blaise frowned at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," said Draco. "I just have some more questions about your potion. Are you turning down my help on what will probably jump you to the top of the class – after me, of course?"

"No, no," said Blaise hastily. "See you at lunch."

Pansy was perfectly happy to come to lunch, so Draco went down to his lab to gather his own notes and record his conclusions before he saw his friends.

_Doesn't work on house-elves_

_Takes user completely out of body_

_User employs subject's senses_

_Subject appears unaware of user's presence_

_Is blood alcohol a factor? Must test._

_Remains in system for 24 hours_

_Produces unbelievable hangover on 2nd morning!_

He was pretty sure the potion was out of his system. It was a particularly dark color, after all…

He still intended to test the Legilimency on Blaise and Pansy, though.

Blaise and Pansy arrived promptly on time for lunch. After the meal, at which raspberries were again served, Draco dragged them down to his potions lab. Blaise inspected the potion Draco had brewed.

"This is the stuff," he agreed. "Have you tested it?"

"In a way," said Draco, taking Blaise's notes and riffling through them. Blaise believed blood alcohol levels higher than normal would _damp_ the effect of the potion. Hmmm.

Draco eased his wand out of his pocket and aimed it at Pansy. "Legilimens," he murmured.

"What was that?" Blaise asked, looking up.

Draco shook his head. Absolutely nothing had happened. Had he not pushed hard enough? Pretending to look through the notes again, he said "Legilimens," again, while concentrating on Pansy as hard as he could.

Pansy looked up from the open potions book he had been doing his homework from, and scowled. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Draco snapped. "Blaise, what can we do about the hideous hangover this stuff gave me this morning?"

"24 hours later? That's interesting." Blaise reclaimed his notes and began muttering over them.

Pansy said, "So what does this potion do, anyway?"

"Boosts Legilimency and Imperius," Blaise said, without looking up.

"And you took it?" she went on, looking up at Draco, who did not like the expression dawning on her face.

"By accident," he stressed. "And I paid the price this morning, all right. Blaise'll have to fix that for the sake of his potions grade."

"Uh huh," Pansy ignored this gambit and closed in. "And you were trying to cast on me just now, weren't you?"

Draco opened his mouth.

"Dammit, Draco!" Pansy snarled.

He shrugged without apology. "It didn't work," he said. "You should be grateful for that thickheaded stubbornness of yours."

Blaise did look up at this. "You were trying to cast Legilimens on Pansy?" he asked.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at him. "Would you rather it was you?"

"Frankly the idea creeps me out," said Blaise. "But in any case, you were doing it wrong."

"What?"

"You need eye contact," Blaise explained.

"Ah." Draco turned an evil smile and his wand on Pansy, looking directly into her eyes. Before she could even blink, he said "Legilimens!" and pushed.

This time it worked – after a fashion. He didn't leave his body this time. This time a series of images flashed past his inner eye: Mrs. Parkinson shouting, Mr. Parkinson sweeping through a door in a cloak and mask, a letter Draco couldn't make out, his own face…

Tears were running down Pansy's face. "No, no," she was mouthing. He could sense, but not actually feel, her fear.

"Finite Incantatem," he said, feeling annoyingly guilty. He handed Pansy a handkerchief. She gave him a hostile look and removed herself to the far side of the room. "Well, that wasn't what the potion did," he went on.

Blaise was staring. "Did you just read her mind?"

"Yes," said Draco. "Although I didn't get much. It was much less involving than with the potion."

Blaise nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Then I guess we should try it with the potion." He reached for the flask.

Draco lifted it from under his hand. "I'll take that," he said coolly, and slammed back a good half the flask. It tasted like liquid cayenne pepper. Blaise watched him gasp and grimace with a certain amusement.

"Urrrgh," said Draco, wiping his watering eyes. "You might want to work on the flavor, Blaise."

"Clearly," said Blaise, and braced himself. "Uh, be careful, Draco. And – and don't make me do anything too embarrassing."

Draco smirked but didn't answer, just pointed his wand at Blaise and said "Legilimens!"

One dizzying rush later, he was looking down from a lofty vantage point at his own body crumpled awkwardly on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Pansy let out a short scream and darted forward, dropping to her knees beside Draco's fallen body and lifting his head onto her lap. Blaise knelt down quickly and straightened out the crumpled limbs, then peeled back Draco's eyelid. Draco himself peered with interest into his own blank grey eye before Blaise let go.

"He's not in there," said Blaise. "It's sent him out of his body again."

"So…that means he's in your head?" Pansy asked, running her fingers through Draco's hair. Draco rather wished he were in his body to feel it; he loved having his hair stroked. Also, it was a bit unnerving to be out of his body when awake.

He turned his attention to Blaise. As with the experience with Lucius, Draco could feel what Blaise was feeling and think what he was thinking. The difference seemed to be that it was much easier to retain his awareness of himself, and everything seemed to come to him much more clearly. That might also be because he and Blaise were both wide awake, though.

"Draco?" Blaise said aloud.

"I'm here," Draco said, but Blaise did not seem to get the message.

"Draco?" he repeated.

_So I can't just talk to him,_ Draco thought. After a moment he said aloud, "Stand up and put your hands on your hips." – a highly uncharacteristic pose.

Blaise immediately stood and put his hands on his hips. Pansy looked at him and giggled. "I'd say he's in there, all right," she said.

Draco caught the burst of uneasiness from Blaise. _He can't, he can't_…Blaise was thinking.

Without much effort, Draco found the thoughts Blaise was trying to suppress. He was in love…he thought it was hopeless…he was shocked at himself…_Argh, no wonder!_ Draco thought. _Ginny Weasley? That poverty stricken Gryffindor who won't look anywhere but at Potter? What is_ wrong _with Blaise?_

He could tell that Blaise was wondering the same thing, although a quick look through Blaise's memories and impressions of the Weaselette caused Draco to admit – grudgingly – that the attraction was not entirely unreasonable. She was far more appealing than her obnoxious brothers, and she had a certain way about her.

_Still. A Gryffindor blood-traitor. Ugh._

Draco left those thoughts behind and had a quick look around in Blaise's head. He noted Blaise's respect for him with approbation, and frowned when he found Blaise's doubts about the wisdom of continuing to work with him on this potion. _No nerve_, Draco told himself. The research was going beautifully, and the potion was sheer genius. He was frankly surprised that Blaise had managed to think of it; he wasn't normally particularly gifted at potions theory.

He then noticed Blaise's anticipation about meeting the Dark Lord, something which was apparently slated to take place quite soon. _What? Blaise gets to meet him before me? Why?_ Draco was outraged.

Blaise was suddenly even uneasier. Perhaps he could sense Draco's surge of anger. Well might he quail; Draco's wrath was no light thing.

This potion was for the Dark Lord. It wasn't the Adamant potion Lucius had been dreaming about, but it was one the Dark Lord specifically wanted. Why had Blaise been trusted with it? Everyone knew Draco was better at potions, and his father was the Dark Lord's right hand! What was going on?

Blaise's heart was racing. Enough of this. Draco said, "Tell me everything you know about this potion and your involvement with the Dark Lord. Tell only me. Finite Incantatem!"

The dizzying rush returned, and a moment later he felt Pansy's fingers stroking through his hair. He opened his eyes and glared at Blaise, who was still standing with his hands on his hips.

Blaise returned the glare. "I see it worked," he said. "What are you so angry about?"

Draco smirked, sitting up. "Just remembering the hangover I'm going to suffer from this. You'll definitely have to work on that before you let – anyone else – take the potion." Blaise's eyes widened a little. "Oh, take your hands off your hips," Draco snapped, and Blaise did, shaking out his wrists.

"There seems to be a little quirk with the Imperius part," he said. "I assume you used Finite Incantatem to get back to your body?"

"Yes."

"But I was still stuck with my hands like that until you told me to stop," Blaise went on.

"And you didn't have to say Finite Incantatem again to let his hands down," Pansy put in. "Is he still Imperio'd?"

She and Draco looked hard at Blaise, who shifted his feet, frowning. "I don't feel like I am," he said after a minute. "It feels nothing like Moody's class. But I didn't feel it before, either…"

"Stand on one foot," said Draco, lifting a brow.

Blaise immediately stood on one foot. "Oh, bugger," he said feelingly.

"Hmmm," said Draco, smirking. "The possibilities are delicious. But go ahead and put your foot back down."

"Prat." Blaise put his foot back down and reached for his notes.

"You're never getting near me with that spell," said Pansy. Draco turned the lifted brow on her. "I mean it, Draco."

"I know you do," he murmured. "So, let's see what we have here…"

They spent the remainder of the afternoon adding to the notes, which Draco was careful to claim before Blaise left. "I'll be talking to you later," he said, as Blaise prepared to floo home. Blaise nodded without looking at him and vanished into the fire. Pansy kissed Draco's cheek quickly and followed.

There were raspberries at dinner too. Draco realized there would probably be raspberries at every meal until he told his father to stop, but he wasn't ready to do that yet. After all, he loved raspberries, and he never got to eat them during the summer. Also, it was heady knowing his father was under his command. Not that Draco intended to command him to do anything else; he wasn't stupid.

_I'll talk to Blaise tomorrow_, he decided. _I've got the hang of this now._ _Tonight I'll find Potter and get into _his _head!_

Keeping his evil laugh carefully in his own head, he retired extremely early that night.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter might be more T+ than T.

Draco never had any trouble picturing Harry Potter in his head. He spent so much time watching the – _strangely compelling_ – prat that the image formed immediately once he lay down and closed his eyes. Potter took shape in his mind, from the top of his touseled hair to the toes of his unfortunate trainers. Really, he shouldn't be allowed to shop for his own clothes; he obviously had no grasp of fit, fashion, or color.

"Legilimens," Draco murmured, banishing the digression, focusing on this mental picture, and swishing his wand. At once he was sucked out of his body and straight through the wall of his bedroom. As he rushed through the night, he exulted. At last, he was about to have Potter right where he wanted him!

Well, not _right_ where he wanted him. That would put Potter at, well, much closer range. Draco was always horrified by these lusty thoughts about the Prat-Who-Lived. He comforted himself only with the assurance that he didn't actually like him or anything. He just wanted to shag him six ways to Sunday. Maybe the potion would help with that not-so-little problem; if he could make Potter do _anything_…

This was taking a long time. For Merlin's sake, did Potter leave the country every summer? Draco tried to pay a little more attention to the landscape through which he was speeding. He couldn't catch many details, at the rate he was going. He seemed to be traversing Muggle suburbia, though. Potter did live with Muggles, Draco knew that much. He might even find it within himself to feel sorry for Potter.

Or not.

His speed increased, arrowing him toward a very small house in a row of identical very small houses. As he reflexively braced himself, though, he suddenly arched up and away, flashing through the air so fast that only a moment later he was back in his own head.

Not fair! How could it not work?

Gritting his teeth, he focused on his mental image and tried again. The same thing happened. This time he barely got close enough to see the house he had approached before he was bounced back. This was just not on.

However many times he tried, though, he never got any nearer. At last, deep in the night, he sat up in bed, panting with rage and frustration, and flung his wand across the room. "Unbelievable!" he shouted.

Izzy apeared beside the bed. "Master Draco?"

"Get out," Draco snapped, and the elf cringed and vanished again. "Accio wand," Draco said next, and caught his wand as it flew into his hand. He regarded it thoughtfully for a moment before putting it on his bedside table.

Potter obviously had some excellent wards. This would take a bit more effort, but Draco was determined. No matter what, he was getting into Potter's head. Even if he had to wait until school started, there was no way Potter would escape from him.

Draco thought about paying a little visit to Blaise or Pansy, but decided against it. In truth, his brain felt a little bruised from all his efforts to get at Potter. He got up, got a drink of water, lay back down, and fell asleep.

He dreamed…

He was approaching that little house again, flying slowly this time. He drifted up to one of the upstairs windows, the only one covered with thick iron bars. He peered in through the bars and saw, across the room, a cage containing Potter's white owl. Then he spotted Potter himself, sitting bent over a book at a spindly desk.

Draco knocked on the window. Potter looked up and broke into a wide smile at the sight of him. He came over to the window immediately and opened it.

"Draco!" he said happily, reaching through the bars to clasp Draco's hand. His fingers were warm and rough with broom callouses.

"Harry," said Draco, returning the clasp. "Are you going to let me in, or what?" he asked with a smile.

"Of course," said Harry, and pushed on two of the bars. They moved aside, so that Draco could slip between them into the room. "Get in here, it's been way too long…"

Draco drifted through. Even before his feet touched the floor, Potter was in his arms – _this dream was so_ real – warm and solid, arms going around Draco's back as their lips met. Potter tasted like chocolate, and _Merlin_, he knew how to use his tongue.

"Too long," Draco agreed breathlessly, when they pulled back for oxygen. His hands slid down Harry's back to his bum and squeezed, lifting the smaller boy up and into him. Harry groaned and wrapped one leg around Draco's hip, arching into his body.

Draco attacked Harry's neck, desperate to hear more of those groans. Harry tipped his head back, pushing even harder against Draco, and gasped, "Don't – stay away – so long – next time."

"I won't," Draco muttered, nibbling on Harry's Adam's apple. "I can't." He sucked in a breath as Harry's hands dropped to his hips and squeezed. Merlin, Harry smelled so good. "I want you."

"I want you too," said Harry, backing up just enough to tear his T shirt off. Draco latched onto one of his nipples at once: Harry arched with a cry, hands once more clenched on Draco's hips. They fumbled around to the fly of Draco's trousers, rubbing against the bulge there; Draco swore and pushed into the pressure, accidentally nipping Harry's nipple a little harder than he meant to.

Harry snarled and shoved at him. About to apologize (!), Draco realized where Harry was headed and backed up willingly, dropping onto the narrow, hard bed a moment later. Harry fell on top of him, wriggled up and ripped Draco's shirt open. Buttons flew, but Draco didn't care, because Harry was sucking one of his nipples and twisting the other, all the while squirming against him.

Draco seized Harry's bum again and thrust up hard against him; they ground together and both boys groaned.

"AH—ah…that's so…good," Harry gasped, levering himself onto his elbows to thrust down against Draco. "Uhh…don't stop…"

"As if," Draco grunted, squeezing harder. His world had narrowed to the hot body crushed against him and the spiraling pleasure in his own body. He could feel everything in him focusing on the rush of pleasure. "Harder!"

Harry thrust harder and faster. "Come on, come on…uhhh…" He dropped his head and bit Draco's ear.

The tiny pain sent Draco over the edge, actually screaming as his whole body seemed to explode. A second later he felt Harry freeze, and then the spreading warmth of his orgasm.

They collapsed to the bed, panting. Draco struggled to unlock the fingers clenched on Harry's bum. They unbent reluctantly, and he rested his hands flat. "Merlin, Harry," he gasped.

"Yeah," Harry answered. He was sprawled bonelessly on top of Draco, whose feet were hanging off the side of the bed. "God, I miss you."

Draco stroked the heaving back. "I miss you too. You're such a good shag." He grinned when Harry lifted his head far enough to give him a half hearted glare.

Harry smirked. "As are you." He thrust lightly against Draco again, and Draco could feel himself taking a renewed interest. "Let's get naked."

"Yeah!" They got properly onto the bed and took off their clothes, groping and kissing in a languid sort of way. As soon as Draco's pants were off Harry slid down and...

"Uhhh…_Harry!_," Draco shouted, snagging his fingers in that soft ebony hair…

And woke up.

He lay there for a moment, panting, then smirked and slid a hand down his body. He just couldn't _wait_ to get into Potter's…head.


	7. Chapter 7

When he woke up for real later in the morning, Draco's expression was less smug, despite the absence of the crushing headache he had been fully expecting. What in Merlin's name had been all that lovey behavior in his dream? _"I miss you," "I can't stay away," "Too long."_ Calling him _Harry_!

What happened to his perfectly good fantasy of patrolling the corridors at Hogwarts late at night, finding Potter wandering about as usual, and dragging him into a nearby classroom to coerce a (really excellent) blow job out of him? Or what about the quite superior one of cornering Potter in the quidditch showers and shagging him against the wall?

Whatever that had been last night – and Draco had to admit it had certainly been hot – it was not acceptable. There were NO sweet feelings for Potter, just hot ones. Potter did have that slender, toned body, those vivid eyes, that wild hair…that chemistry. But Draco didn't _like_ him in the least. He was way too Gryffindor!

Disgruntled, Draco got out of bed, dressed, and headed for breakfast. This morning there were raspberries with porridge, a less fortunate combination than Draco might have thought. Also, his father kept giving him long considering looks, as though measuring him for something. It was unnerving.

"Father?" he ventured, when the silence and the stare had stretched on for quite a long time. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," said Lucius, not looking away. "How is your research coming along?"

"My – oh. Very well, thank you father. I anticipate an excellent mark for my DADA project," said Draco.

"And have you had a chance to practice the spell?" Lucius inquired blandly.

Draco's brain scrambled for a moment. Should he admit it? Would his father be angry –?

His father would be angriest if he didn't answer, though. Draco took a fortifying gulp of coffee and said, "Yes, sir. Blaise and Pansy visited yesterday." He added a smirk for good measure.

To his relief, Lucius smirked back. "Well done. And were you successful?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco. "Not that I discovered any deep dark secrets I hadn't already, but it was quite an illuminating experience."

Lucius' smile widened slightly into his look of wintry approval. "Good. You'll be sure and share any – news – you encounter concerning mutual friends, I trust."

"Of course." _Such as the fact that Blaise gets a task from the Dark Lord before me?_

"And use the spell judiciously, Draco," Lucius continued. "Don't get ideas above yourself."

Draco's smirk collapsed into a sullen glower. "Yes, sir," he muttered. _Shows what you know!_ Even as he thought this, Lucius spooned a raspberry into his mouth with a little grimace.

Silence descended on the breakfast room once again. Draco finished his meal and went off to summon Blaise. He needed to get a grip on this situation as soon as possible.

When Blaise arrived, he met Draco with a glower. "Take this Imperius off," he demanded.

"Manners, Blaise," Draco said. "What's the matter, don't you trust me?"

"Take it off, please," Blaise said. "I can't believe you left it on yesterday. This is ridiculous. And I have to talk to you about the potion anyway."

"Well, come in and have something to drink," said Draco. "Izzy!"

In short order, Blaise and Draco were ensconced in one of the solariums, tall glasses of iced raspberry punch in hand and biscuits on the table. Draco bit into a biscuit and gave Blaise a prompting look. "Well?"

Blaise looked around and spoke in a low voice. "Well, it's not really for my potions project. Or not originally. I figure if I turn it in I'll get a fantastic grade, though."

"Undoubtedly," Draco murmured. "What's it for, then?"

"My father," said Blaise. "If I get it to work properly, he says he'll take me before the Dark Lord this summer instead of making me wait until after graduation."

Draco raised his brows. "Really."

Blaise nodded. "Yeah. I guess the Dark Lord really wants this potion, although I don't get why. He can do Legilimens and Imperius on his own better than everybody."

"More power is never a bad thing," said Draco. "So you worked this potion out all on your own?"

"No – I had some notes to work from. Basically I just followed them. The only change I made was the hawthorn."

"Hmmm." Draco drank punch in silence for a few minutes. "So why isn't Professor Snape brewing this potion, if the Dark Lord needs it so much?" he said musingly at last.

Blaise shrugged. "I didn't ask. How could I turn down this opportunity?"

"How indeed? You know it still needs a bit of work," said Draco. "Although I didn't have the big hangover this morning, so that's something."

"Not really," said Blaise. "If it follows the course it did before, the potion will flush out of your system during tonight, and you'll have the hangover tomorrow."

"That's right!"

"Maybe we can ward it off if you take hangover potion before you go to bed," said Blaise. "You have all my notes. Any other bright ideas?"

Draco looked at him for a minute. "Are you expecting me to help you for nothing?"

"I've already been a test subject for you," Blaise snapped.

"Oh, but no, it's the other way around," said Draco. "You've managed to avoid the hangover and everything, and believe me that's worth a lot. No, you'll not be getting sole credit for this one."

Blaise snarled at him, but there was really nothing he could do, and Draco could see he knew it. "Fine. Take the Imperius off," he said again, his voice tight.

Draco raised the Malfoy Eyebrow. "Manners, Blaise," he repeated. "That's no way to talk to your – partner."

Blaise emitted a strange hissing noise through his teeth, and Draco laughed and waved a hand.

"Never mind," he said, and looked hard into Blaise's eyes. "Finite Incantatem Imperius."

Blaise blinked. "Did it work?"

"Stand up and clap your hands," Draco suggested.

Blaise stayed put. After a minute he smiled widely. "It worked. Thanks, Draco. You didn't need to force me to take your help, you know, I was already planning to ask you. I know you're better at potions than I am."

"Good," said Draco, after a disconcerted moment. "So, we have a few things to tackle then. Izzy!"

The house elf brought them the sheaf of notes, and they got to work. Of paramount importance was eliminating the hangover the stuff produced, but Draco was almost as equally committed to improving the taste. His throat still burned slightly from his dose the previous afternoon.

They made a fair amount of headway, and retired to the lab to mix up the new formula. It had to simmer overnight, so Blaise left then. Draco, noticing that it was nearly dinnertime, hurried back to his room to change, still ticking off points in his mind.

"Half the world is allergic to knotgrass pollen, can't use that. What about sweetgrass? Hmmmm…"

There was raspberry compote with dinner. Draco was willing to admit the whole raspberry thing was getting a bit ridiculous – but how was he going to take the compulsion off his father? He could just imagine Lucius' reaction to Draco's looking deep into his eyes and saying "Finite Incantatem Imperius." He didn't want to, but he could.

He'd just have to do it while Lucius was asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Before going to bed, however, Draco went down to his lab and brewed the very strongest hangover potion he could devise. He had no intention of ever being in the condition he'd been in the last time this potion had left him. He was stirring industriously, thinking of nothing in particular, when Izzy appeared at his elbow. Draco started. Hot potion splashed onto the house elf.

Izzy flinched slightly, but otherwise ignored the burn. "Master Draco, Master Lucius commands you to see him in his study," he squeaked.

"Very well," said Draco, and handed the stirring rod to Izzy. "Stir this counterclockwise for eight minutes, then lower the flame and let it simmer," he said. Izzy took the rod; Draco spelled the splashes off his own clothes, caught up his robe from where he'd left it flung over a chair, and went up to his father's study.

This time he was motioned to the straight-backed chair in front of Lucius' desk, and sank into it with a nervous jolt to his stomach. "Yes, Father?" he asked.

Lucius leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I expected to hear more about your experiments with Legilimency," he said in a neutral voice.

"I'm – sorry, Father," said Draco. "I've been reviewing the theory after my initial experience with Blaise the other day." _And not at all chasing after Potter or messing about in_ your _head, Father…_

Lucius' eyes narrowed fractionally. "You learned nothing from Zabini, then?"

"I learned he has a secret project this summer," said Draco, his resentment over this momentarily taking over. "Something for the Dark Lord. He anticipates being brought before him this summer, in fact."

"Indeed?" Lucius murmured. His brow lifted. "This makes you angry?"

"I wondered why it was Blaise, and not myself, who was approached for this task," said Draco. "You are, after all, far closer –"

"Silence!" Lucius interrupted. Draco's mouth snapped shut. "We do not question his commands! Does it not occur to you that this is a test? The Dark Lord has no reason to doubt _our_ loyalty, after all."

"Oh," said Draco.

"Indeed," said Lucius again. "You must think these things through. A Malfoy is not ruled by emotion. A Malfoy causes others to be ruled by emotion, and to hand over their power thereby."

"Yes, Father," Draco murmured. He wondered how Blaise's "test" would be affected by his, Draco's, involvement. If it was a test of secret-keeping ability as well, Blaise had already failed.

"Continue your research," Lucius said. "Knowledge is always an excellent tool. Report your discoveries to me."

"Yes, Father," Draco repeated. His mind was whirling.

"You may go."

Draco went back down to his lab and found Izzy watching the simmering potion with a nervous but attentive eye, standing well back from the cauldron. He sent the house elf away and finished the potion quickly, then took a decanter of it upstairs with him.

It was too early to go to sleep, though. Draco left the potion in his room and headed for the library. He needed to find more information on wards, as well as Legilimency. He was determined to have mastered this skill completely by the time he returned to school at the very latest.

He found three books on spells of the mind, though only one was devoted entirely to Legilimency and its defense, Occlumency. There were so many books on wards he had trouble making a selection, finally choosing an encyclopedic tome as a place to start. He could narrow things down when he had a better idea of the sort of wards he was dealing with, he reasoned.

Comfortably ensconced in bed with his books and a mug of green tea, Draco searched for references to the sort of behaviour Potter's wards had displayed. Draco had every intention of revisiting Potter tonight, and wanted to be ready.

He did find some useful things, and made notes so that he could find some more in-depth books the next day. Finally he decided it was late enough to have a chance of sneaking into his father's dreams again, so he drank down the hangover potion. Then he turned down the lights, settled himself, fixed his mind on his father – first things first, after all – flicked his wand, and said "Legilimens!"

It was immediately apparent to him that his father was still awake, as his headlong out-of-body rush took him in the opposite direction of Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom. He hoped this wouldn't be a problem; Lucius was sure to have more mental defenses to bring to bear when awake.

Draco hardly had time to form this thought before he flashed through the door of his father's study and straight into his father's head. Lucius was at the desk, writing a letter. As Draco oriented himself, he realized that Lucius had dropped his quill and was peering around the room.

Draco remained as still and unobtrusive as he could, and after a moment Lucius picked up his quill again and looked back down at his document.

_Don't be ridiculous,_ Draco read. _Of course Pansy will not be granted equal control over the Malfoy fortune after she and Draco are married. I am surprised at you for suggesting it._ _She will receive a generous monthly allowance and whatever gifts Draco chooses to give her. And before you get any clever ideas, Draco will not have the power to sign any portion of the fortune over to her exclusive use. She gets what every Pureblood wife gets, and had better be grateful for that. Do not think I am unaware of her activities at school, Simon..._

Draco stopped reading for a moment, as Lucius dipped his quill and seemed to consider what to add next. Awake, his thoughts were separate from Draco's and harder to read. Draco scarcely cared at the moment, though, being taken up with what he had read.

_Once she and Draco are married…_ How immediate was that event? They had less than a year before Pansy came of age; her seventeenth birthday was this coming April. Draco himself would be seventeen before the beginning of seventh year. Would they marry before they finished school? Draco wasn't too keen on that idea. He wanted a chance to get out and see the world – on his own – before he married.

Also, he too knew what Pansy got up to at school. He didn't begrudge her her string of lovers, as he had no particular sexual interest in her, but he didn't like the idea of coming to his marriage bed so much less experienced than his wife. _(Okay, not experienced at all.)_ He and Pansy were friendly, but not close enough for him to entertain any thought of being so vulnerable with her.

Lucius was writing again:

_I will expect your signature on the documents by return owl, Simon. This delay has gone on long enough. The children's future must be settled and their inheritances safeguarded._

_Lucius Malfoy_

Draco kept his peace while his father rolled up the parchment, sealed it, summoned a house elf, and told her to owl it immediately. He wanted Lucius as relaxed as possible. Once the house elf had left, Lucius poured himself a brandy and went back to his desk, pulling another roll of parchment toward him. Clearly he intended to make a long night of it.

Draco was not willing to wait around until Lucius tired and went to bed. Sometimes the man worked all night, and Draco wanted another go at Potter yet tonight. So he turned his attention away from whatever his father was reading (it was in French anyway, and whomever had written it had terrible handwriting) and into his subconscious. He focused on the fixed idea of raspberries that he was able to separate out, and said "Finite incantatem Imperius."

He did not, as he had half feared, return immediately to his own head, not knowing if it had worked or not. He saw the little knot in Lucius' stream-of-unconscious-thought smooth away, and cheered to himself.

As he turned his attention outward again, he glanced down at his father's parchment. He absently translated _72 of the filthy Mudbloods…_ and was just getting interested when pain as though someone had skewered his left forearm to the desk with a white-hot poker roared through Lucius and thus, Draco.

Lucius' breath caught and his muscles tightened, but Draco knew if he hadn't been inside his father's head he'd have had no idea Lucius was in pain. Draco himself was less stoic, but nervous of making too much commotion in Lucius' mind. He gritted his teeth and tried to swallow the pain back far enough to focus his magic as Lucius had a house elf bring him his cloak and a small box. As soon as the cloak was fastened, Lucius put his hands to his face and then flicked his wand.

Draco felt as though he was being crushed. His whole body was being compressed into something tiny enough to fit through the eye of a needle. In panic, he gasped out "Finite incantatem!" but the pressure did not let up at once. Just as Draco was sure he was trapped, though, the pressure did vanish.

He was still in Lucius' head, though. His father had arrived in a forest clearing much like the one Draco had seen in the dream, and was looking about him disdainfully even as he checked that the mask was properly fitted to his face. Other cloaked and masked figures were appearing all around him. It was a sultry night, and there was a bonfire lit in the center of the clearing, but Lucius had obviously cast a cooling charm on his cloak. He shed not a drop of sweat.

The tall, shrouded figure of the Dark Lord appeared. "Welcome, my loyal Death Eaters," he said. This time Draco shivered, thoroughly creeped out by the high, cold voice. It sounded unnatural coming from such a tall figure. "I have called you here to discipline some who would stand in our way. Their fate shall be the fate of all who oppose us!"

The assembled Death Eaters cheered, Lucius included. Draco wanted to leave, he had plans of his own, but at the same time curiosity kept him locked in place.

Two Death Eaters approached the Dark Lord, dragging two people with them. As they came into the light, Draco saw that the prisoners were men, dressed in business robes but looking haggard and terrified. He had no idea who they were. Maybe Ministry employees?

In any case, not for long. "Crucio!" screamed the Dark Lord, flinging an arm toward them. The sleeve shrouded the wand Draco knew he must be holding. The two men folded at once, shrieking and writhing. It was entrancing, in a rather disturbing kind of way, Draco thought. Like watching a Bludger accident, you just couldn't look away.

This curse was going on for a long time, he realized. It had to be two full minutes before the Dark Lord dropped his wand arm. The screams died down, but the two men continued to writhe and gibber.

"Never again will you obstruct my plans," The Dark Lord said in an eerily calm voice. "Avada Kedavra!" The clearing blazed green, and the two men went still and silent.

"Well done, Lucius," said the Dark Lord, and Draco couldn't contain his gasp. "I know I can rely upon you to discover traitors and enemies."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lucius, bowing. Bowing! Draco still couldn't believe it.

He felt a bit shuddery, actually, and decided it would be best to leave now. "Finite incantatem," he whispered, and welcomed the dizzy rush back to his own body. He opened his eyes upon his bedroom ceiling with a small gasp of relief. That had been intense. He knew the Dark Lord had no mercy upon those who got in his way, but it was one thing to know that and another to see it. He felt unsettled; excited and scared all at once. Thank Merlin Draco and all his friends were Purebloods and would never have to go through that.

He almost decided to call it a night, but he was pretty sure he could get past Potter's wards, and didn't want to leave that until he could drink more of the potion. Neither he nor Blaise had really looked at long term side effects yet, after all. Draco wasn't going to take another dose of this stuff without a lot more information.

He did get up and have a drink of water, and generally try to settle himself down before once more reclining on the bed, focusing on his mental image of Potter (it formed much more easily and clearly than his image of his father, but Draco chose not to dwell on that), and casting the spell.

This time, as he was flung from his body, he tried to pay as much attention as possible to his surroundings. He wanted to know where Potter actually was. There was no question the information would be gratefully received in – certain quarters. Once Draco had had his fill of Potter, of course.

Countryside, countryside, suburbia, suburbia…he flew through the night. This time he got nearer to the little house, close enough to see that the window he was approaching did indeed have bars across it, before the wards flung him away.

"Oh, no you don't," he snarled to his silent bedroom, and promptly cast the spell again. This time as he approached the wards he muttered a charm from his book as fast as he could. To his delight, he got right up to the window and was able to peer inside. To his wrath, he was unable to pass through the window. Not even his charm helped with that, but at least he was not being flung away. He looked eagerly through the window.

The room was darkened, but there was some moonlight coming through the window (not to mention Draco) and he was able to get a pretty good view. Directly across from the window was a stand with a large owl cage on it, empty. Next to that was a spindly desk. There was a wardrobe to the right of the window. The room extended a bit to the left of the window; it was darker over there, but Draco made out the outline of a person lying on a bed. Potter! He seemed to be squirming a lot. Draco smirked; soon he would be in Potter's head, and the four-eyed git would _definitely_ be squirming a lot!

A steady but insistent pressure from the wards began to make itself known, pushing Draco away from the window. He fought to stay where he was, cataloging as many details as he could, but eventually the wards prevailed and he was flung back to his own head. He woke up with a satisfied smile.

It faded just a little at the realization that Potter's room had been exactly the way it was in his latest Potter-starring erotic dream.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco woke in the morning gasping, his body still throbbing in the aftermath of the dream he'd had once he was back in his own head. As he lay catching his breath, he smirked to himself. The return of his familiar dream about cornering Potter in the quidditch showers had been _very_ welcome. Potter's new cooperativeness had only made it hotter. Draco wondered idly why he had never dreamed Potter such a good kisser before.

Once he was up, washed, and dressed, he went down to breakfast feeling quite smug and cheerful. He had absolutely no trace of a hangover, let alone the paralyzing agony he'd experienced last time. Not to mention, it was a beautiful day. Draco had no intention of spending the whole day closed up in his lab.

_But I haven't had any other symptoms of the potion cycling out of my system_, his brain piped up.

He shushed it. _I feel fine._

But hadn't he remembered that the berry juice in the hangover potion might interact with the powdered runespoor egg in the Legilimency potion? He had to figure out what they did when combined! He'd already drunk both potions!

_After a fly_, he told himself firmly. Fresh air would get his brain working at top capacity.

Firm in his decision, he gave his mother a smile as he sat down at the breakfast table and a house elf filled his coffee cup.

"You seem happy this morning," she said, with a brief smile back.

"Things are going well," said Draco. "And it's a beautiful day. I'm going for a fly after breakfast."

"That's lovely, dear," said his mother. "Just don't forget about the tea party this afternoon in the gardens. You'll be Pansy's escort."

_Dammit!_ He had forgotten. Escorting Pansy during one of Narcissa's oppressively elegant tea parties was not high on his list of Excellent Ways To Spend An Afternoon. Pansy actually seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was a female thing.

His mood rather dimmed, Draco collected his Nimbus from his room and flew it right out the window. The day really was glorious. As the manor dropped away below him, a rush of exhiliaration filled him instead. This was just what he needed. Who cared about the tea party? It was hours away.

Draco flew for hours, practicing all his best stunts, releasing and catching a professional practice snitch his father had procured for him, and finally just drifted aimlessly over the Malfoy lands. He was quite startled when one of the smaller Malfoy owls accosted him in midair. The note attached to its leg said simply _GET HOME RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN!_ He could practically hear his mother's icy tones.

He flew the broomstick speedily back through his bedroom window, flinched at the sight of the clock, cast several hurried spells on himself, and swept down the stairs impeccably dressed and groomed for an afternoon garden tea. Narcissa, Pansy, and Mrs. Parkinson were waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"There you are, darling," Narcissa cooed. Her smile came nowhere near her eyes. Draco bowed over her hand, trying to convey apologies via some kind of mother-son telepathy. "I was sure you'd just become absorbed in your studies."

"I beg your pardon, ladies," said Draco smoothly, taking his cue. He bowed over Mrs. Parkinson's hand – Merlin, had the woman never heard of hand cream? – and offered Pansy his arm. "I'm afraid I was quite caught up. Shall we?"

"Studying?" Pansy murmured, pinching his arm in a friendly way.

"Wind patterns," he murmured back. "Were you waiting long?"

She shrugged. "Not long. How have things been going?"

"Fine…" Making small talk, he settled Pansy at one of the canopied garden tables with a cup of tea and a plate of her favorite scones. He acquired a rather more substantial plate for himself; all that flying had left him ravenous. Pansy made no comment, although Narcissa gave him an exasperated look when she and Pansy's mother joined him and Pansy at their table.

Draco ate without apology, devouring sandwiches of paper-thin cold cuts and watercress while mrs. Parkinson brought up the topic of his and Pansy's wedding. He and Pansy traded a look when she mentioned choosing a date.

"I didn't think we were at that stage, Mother," said Pansy. "Aren't there still papers to sign, arrangements to be finalized?"

"Oh, no, dear," said Mrs. Parkinson. "Your father tells me he sent back the last of the signed documents this morning. Now we can really get down to plans, and not a moment too soon." She smiled at Narcissa, who smiled back slightly distantly. "It's going to be beautiful, you'll see. The Manor is so lovely with everything in bloom." She beamed at the surrounding gardens, which were indeed a riot of color and scent.

Draco swallowed a gulp of tea. "While nothing could be higher in my ambitions than marriage to Pansy –" Pansy kicked him under the table, and not lightly, but the sarcasm in his voice seemed to sail right over their mothers' heads. Well, maybe not Narcissa's; she gave him a sharp look. " – we do have to be of age, do we not? That doesn't happen for another year."

Mrs. Parkinson gave him a rather pitying look. "Of course, dear. We'll need a year to get everything arranged. That's why I've been so frustrated that the paperwork was taking so long. But it's all right now. Pansy and I have already ordered dress designs from madame malkin."

Draco raised a brow at Pansy, who - to her credit – appeared unfazed. "Weddings are a lot of work, Draco," she said.

"I suppose so." He pushed back his plate. "Pansy, would you care for a stroll through the gardens? The roses are looking particularly fine today."

"I'd love to." She dabbed her lips daintily with her napkin, rose, and took his arm. "Lady Malfoy, Mother, you will excuse us?"

"Of course," Narcissa murmured. "Enjoy yourselves." Draco was sure he was the only one to catch her faint air of resignation as she turned to Mrs. Parkinson, who had produced a parchment from somewhere and was clearly anxious to discuss whatever was written on it.

Draco and Pansy strolled off into the garden. When they were out of earshot of the guests, Pansy let out a rather strangled giggle. "She's driving me mad already," she said, passing a hand over her eyes.

Draco patted the hand she had on his arm, but said nothing. His good mood from earlier was rapidly draining away.

"Draco," said Pansy, stopping suddenly and turning to face him. He noticed that she looked him directly in the right eyebrow. "Do you really want to get married this soon?"

"Do _I_? What does it matter? It's not up to us," said Draco resentfully. What, did _she_ not want to marry _him_ so soon?

She huffed. "That can't be the end of it. You're Draco Malfoy. You're ruled by no one – I seem to recall you making quite a speech about it when Dumbledore –"

"That's different," Draco interrupted. "This is Family. I know my duty to the Pureblood line."

"Are you saying I don't?" Pansy snapped, flaring up.

"Do you? You brought it up," said Draco. Inwardly he wondered why they were having this argument. He _didn't_ want to marry her so soon – perhaps not ever. What was he getting so worked up about?

"I know my duty," said Pansy coldly. She avoided Draco's attempt to look her directly in the eye. "Let's go back. This obviously isn't going to get us anywhere."

They started back toward the party. Draco heard her mutter under her breath "Should've known I couldn't talk to you like an actual human being…"

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped.

"By what?" Pansy snapped back. "Don't talk to me in your House Elf voice, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to be your wife, and I'll tell you right now you'd better not think you get to treat me like some kind of minion."

Draco ground his teeth. "Well, if you don't see me as a human being, why should I bother?"

She stared at him. "Where did that come from?"

"You said it just now!"

"No I didn't. I didn't say anything. Do not blame your mental wanderings on me," she ordered.

His temper flared higher, but before he could reply they had arrived back at their table. Both of them plastered on smiles, and the rest of the afternoon was occupied with talk of wedding details. Draco thought his brain might melt before it was over. He was very glad to see the Parkinsons into their coach late in the afternoon, and turned to flee at once for his lab.

"Just a moment, young man," his mother said, dropping a restraining hand strong as a veela claw onto his shoulder. Resentfully, he turned back.

"I really must get back to my studies, Mother," he tried. "I left an experiment at an awkward stage…"

She raised the Black Eyebrow, even more intimidating than the Malfoy Eyebrow. "You disrupted my party."

Resigned, he bowed. "I most humbly apologize, Mother," he said, kissing her hand. "It will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," she said, and let him go.

He headed back to his lab still seething over the argument with Pansy. How dare she not want to marry him as soon as possible? He was the best catch in the Wizarding World! Boys and girls alike competed for his attention at school – just because he was too choosy to take any of them up on their offers did not mean he lacked ample opportunities…who did Pansy think she was?


	10. Chapter 10

Draco's mood did not improve as he meticulously measured powdered runespoor egg and berry juice into beakers. His life had been just a little too upheaved lately. First the thing with Blaise and the potion, and now Pansy.

Pansy had always been extremely possessive of Draco, making sure all the girls he might conceivably date knew that ultimately he belonged to her. Draco had made a point to be seen to be indulging this behaviour, because while he'd had no special interest in any of the people Pansy warned off, it wouldn't do to have people thinking Pansy got to dictate his social life – especially as hers was so very active. Draco thought probably nearly every boy in their year and above had had a go with his future wife, with the possible exceptions of Crabbe, Goyle, and the Gryffindors. And come to think of it, there had been rumours about Dean Thomas…

But Draco and Pansy had always been on reasonably good terms, and both had known they were to be married since either of them could remember. They had been betrothed since birth. Why was she bucking the traces now?

Draco scowled and measured three drops of his own blood into another beaker. Then gave it a beady-eyed look at the unusual magical tang it gave off. His heart sank as he checked his other beakers and quickly prepared a few different samples to view under the thaumaturge.

As far as he could tell, Blaise's potion in combination with the hangover potion had changed his blood permanently.

All right, that was it. That was really all he could be expected to deal with in one day. Somewhat in a daze, he cleaned up his lab – having learned the hard way not to leave that to the house elves. Then he went up and took a long, hot bath, changed into his oldest and most comfortable cotton pyjamas, and made Izzy bring him hot chocolate and shortbread cookies. Now was definitely the time for comfort food.

Once Izzy had gone, he even extracted from a secret and heavily charm-guarded compartment in his bed frame a very old, tattered and well-loved stuffed dragon.

He wasn't going to think about this tonight, he decided. He needed time to process. He would indulge in the activity that always cheered him up the most: planning for the inevitable day when Potter would be completely in his power.

He wasn't especially surprised, when he finally fell asleep, to find himself slipping into one of his favored Potter dreams.

He walked into the Hogwarts kitchens, secure in the knowledge that, as a prefect, no one would punish him for being here, even after curfew. The same could not be said of the skinny, bespectacled Boy Who Lived, though, and Draco laughed as he saw Potter jump up from a table where he'd apparently been enjoying cocoa with the house elves after hours.

"No, no, Potter, don't get up," he drawled, aiming his wand. Potter eyed it resentfully and sank back into his chair.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he demanded.

"Why, that's none of your business, Potter," said Draco. "I am a prefect. I can be anywhere I choose. You, on the other hand –"

"Piss off," said Potter, starting to get up.

"_Petrificus partialis_," Draco snapped, flicking his wand. Potter slumped back in his chair, muscles lax, unable to move. He glared.

Draco twirled his wand between his fingers and grinned at his victim. "Look at you, all mine," he said cheerfully. "Whatever shall I do with you? Turn you in to Dumbledore? Or…the Dark Lord?"

There was a flash of something in those annoyingly green eyes.

"I could just let you go," said Draco, and Potter's eyes showed surprise. It was followed swiftly by suspicion. "Not for free, you're right about that… but for, say, a favour…" He came closer and ran the fingers of his free hand through Potter's hair. It was very soft.

"Ungngng," said Potter; all he could say with the amount of control over his jaw the spell left him.

Draco ignored this, running his hand down over Potter's cheek, which was faintly rough – again annoying, as Draco's seldom was– and to the hollow of his throat. He could feel the pulse there start to speed up. Potter's pupils dilated.

"Who knows," Draco murmured. "You might even like it." He very carefully restored some muscular control to Potter's face and throat, so that he could talk.

Potter swallowed. "You're mad," he said.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Draco. "Not when it's this or the Dark Lord. And quite frankly, Potter, unless I'm…satisfied…it's this _and_ the Dark Lord."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you."

Draco laughed. "And quite right, too. But you're in _my_ power, Scarhead. What choice have you got?"

Potter's eyes flicked desperately around. Except for the two of them, the kitchen was somehow deserted. "I –" he said.

"Yes?" said Draco, running his wand down Potter's throat to the gaping collar of his T shirt. The ridiculous thing was big enough for two of Potter; the material gave under Draco's quick cutting spell and fell off him, leaving him in nothing but pyjama pants. Potter gasped and goosebumps rushed over his skin.

"Potter?" Draco prompted, fingers sweeping over Potter's shoulders and down his chest. Potter shuddered.

"I d – don't," he stuttered. "Um –"

"Don't what?"

"Um – d-do this," Potter managed.

"Oh, now that can't be true," said Draco. "Not the Boy Who Lived. Three quarters of the school is gagging for you and we all know it."

Anger flared in Potter's eyes. "Well, it is true," he snapped. Then his eyes dropped. "I've – been – "

"Been what? Waiting, Potter? For true love?" Potter's face went red. Draco laughed. "Well, time's up. It's your arse or your life." He flicked his wand again, and suddenly Potter was naked on the chair. "Not bad, Potter."

Potter snarled at him, still unable to move more than his face.

"That won't do," Draco murmured. A few charms later, Potter was struggling against ropes that fastened his arms and legs to the chair he was sitting in. Draco pulled off his own clothes and took aim with his wand once more. "Try this," he said, smirking, and cast one of his own favorite charms.

Potter froze. His breath hissed in, and he shuddered all over. "What is that?" he gasped.

"Just a charm, Potter," said Draco. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Potter nodded in a dazed way. Draco knew how he felt, knew the sensation of lips and tongues currently working on his nipples. They peaked even as Draco watched, and he flicked his gaze down. Good.

He moved to the chair and stood beside it; Potter craned his neck around to watch him. Draco ran his hand back through Potter's hair and pulled him close to his own chest. "Your turn," he said.

Potter tried to bite, but Draco jerked back, then flicked his wand so the charm inflicted bites. Potter twitched and swore.

"That's right," said Draco. "Be careful, Potter. Remember what I told you. Make it worth it to me to keep you to myself." He pulled Potter's head closer to him again.

_Merlin!_ Potter may not "do that," but he knew how to use his mouth! He even knew the _right_ way to bite…

Potter's arms were around him, somehow, moving him gently in front of the chair so Potter didn't have his neck at such an awkward angle. Draco looked down as that unexpectedly talented mouth slid down over his abs, going up slightly on tiptoe as Potter's tongue dipped into his navel.

Potter glanced up, green eyes warm and smiling. Draco smiled back, and Potter winked, then slid out of the chair and onto his knees, his hands sliding up the backs of Draco's thighs to grip his arse as he leaned in. Draco flinched a little, and gasped. Ohhhh, Potter _really_ knew how to use his mouth!

His knees buckled. Potter pulled away long enough to make sure Draco didn't crack his skull open on the stone floor, then dove right back onto him. Now unconcerned with keeping his balance, Draco writhed and moaned with abandon. Vaguely he realized this was not how the dream usually went, but he had very little brainpower to spare to wonder about that. This was much better anyway…_much _better…

He came so hard he thought he might be paralyzed for life. He murmured incoherently as Potter crawled up along his body and embraced him, and managed to fling his arms around the other boy. Potter stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, and Draco cuddled closer, resting his head on Potter's chest and listening to his slowing heartbeat.

"Feeling better?" Potter murmured.

"Much," Draco said drowsily. "Thanks."

Potter chuckled. "Definitely my pleasure," he said. He stroked Draco's arm, soothingly.

Draco breathed in his scent, relaxing even more, the stone floor of the kitchen having somehow become a soft bed…somewhere. He could not remember ever feeling so safe, or loved.

"Master Draco!"

And he jerked awake, automatically hiding the stuffed dragon underneath him and glaring at Izzy. "What!"

The elf cringed. "It's time to wake up, master Draco," he squeaked. "Your tutor will be here in two hours."

"Get out!"

The elf vanished and Draco flopped back on the bed. "Dammit," he muttered, as his heartbeat returned to normal. Very carefully he concealed the dragon again, then staggered off to get showered and ready for the day. Somehow, the feeling of reassurance Harry – no, _Potter_ – had given him in his dream remained with him. H - Potter being with him willingly was a heady thing. Too bad when Draco finally did get his hands on the real boy, their interaction would never go like that.

He was sorrier about that than he thought was healthy.


	11. Chapter 11

"I expect you to do credit to the Malfoy name," Lucius said, over breakfast.

"Of course, Father," said Draco, and sipped his coffee.

"A Malfoy shows no weaknesses," Lucius went on. "No pain, no fear, no need for – outside comfort." His tone was quite even.

Draco's heart thudded. Damn Izzy, had it reported -? Would his father force him to give up the dragon? "Y-yes, of course, Father," he said, forcing the wobble out of his voice.

Lucius nodded sharply and said no more, so Draco swallowed the various questions he'd been meaning to ask about this tutor, such as who he or she was, and finished his breakfast. He'd been careful not to look into his father's eyes, afraid that his desire for information would somehow inadvertently trigger a Legilimens incident. He could think of few things that would enrage his father – thus resulting in major pain for Draco – more.

Would he even be able to cast Legilimens at its usual level anymore? Or would he always be sent out of his body? That would seriously undermine covert use of the ability.

He ensconced himself in the library to wait for the tutor, becoming engrossed in another book about wards as he waited. What he wouldn't give for a sample of Potter's blood, he mused. That would solve all this impenetrable ward nonsense right quick, and he could get on with things.

"Master Draco," Izzy said, appearing with a subdued pop. Draco frowned at the elf over the top of his book. "Professor Silver is here."

"Very well," said Draco, putting down his book and getting to his feet. "Send him in."

Izzy opened the door, admitting a short figure in an enveloping black cloak. One clawed – but very feminine – hand protruded from its folds, grasping the handle of a lacquered black cane. The figure leaned heavily on this as it made its way toward Draco, who could feel the blood staining his cheeks.

"Draco Malfoy," said an unexpectedly smooth and beautiful voice from the depths of the hood.

"Professor Silver," he returned, bowing slightly. "Please, be seated. Can I offer you anything before we start?"

"Well, your manners are acceptable, at any rate," said Professor Silver, coming forward. "Tea would be welcome."

"Izzy," said Draco. "Tea for the Professor. May I take your cloak?"

"No," said Professor Silver, easing into the chair Draco held for her. "These old houses are always chilly." She did lower the hood, though.

She looked to be about 150 years old, with silver-white hair bound up on the top of her head and a thin, sharp face. Her eyes were a startling dark blue, and very keen. She raked them over Draco's face as he sat down opposite her at the library worktable.

"I've seen your OWL scores," she said abruptly, as Izzy reappeared with a tea tray. "White, three sugars," she added to the elf, then pinned Draco with her gaze again. "Not completely disgraceful, if second to a Muggle-born. Your Charms obviously need work, as well as Dark Arts. We will be covering politics and Advanced Potions as well."

Draco nodded. Damn Potter for making him mess up his Charms OWL! Advanced Potions sounded good, though, and so did Dark Arts. He'd be spending no more time as a slug.

Professor Silver slapped a parchment down on the table. "You'll be needing these books," she said. "For today, I'll be testing you. Have the books by Wednesday."

Draco nodded again; then, prompted by her gimlet gaze, said, "Yes, Professor."

"Very good," she said, and sipped her tea. "Now then, what is the Exsanguination Charm?"

Rather taken aback, Draco answered automatically. She did not pause after that, but briskly took him through a list of charms and hexes that would have given any Hogwarts DADA teacher heart spasms. Draco was embarrassed that he only knew three-fourths of them, and had never performed most.

"That will change," said Professor Silver, making notes.

He would be _unstoppable_ after this summer!

She drilled him for an hour, then said, "That will be all for now. I am aware that the library here has a copy of Seraphine Slytherin's _On Magical Education_. Read the first three chapters and write an essay on your conclusions, to be handed in on Wednesday. All our classes after this one will be three hours – one and a half theory, one and a half practical."

"Yes, Professor," said Draco resentfully. Homework in the holidays! Especially now, when he had work of his own to do! "How long would you like the essay?"

She waved a hand. "Long enough to do justice to the subject. I leave it up to you."

"Yes, Professor." Maybe there was hope! At least until his father checked on his progress…dammit.

"Good day then, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Silver, and retrieved her cane from its resting place against the table. Draco jumped to his feet, helped her up, and summoned Izzy to see her out.

Then he fetched his broom and went out to fly and sulk. This tutoring business had better turn out to be worth it; it was going to put a serious crimp in his holiday!

After lunch he went out again, this time to swim in the Malfoy's private lake. There was a tiny island with a gazebo on it in the middle thereof, to which he repaired when he had worked off most of his ire in swimming laps.

It was breezy and shady in there. Draco lay comfortably on the lounge and finally allowed his mind to drift back to his current predicament.

His blood was permanently changed. That meant he should have the abilities the potion gave him for the rest of his life – not such a bad thing at all. So far the only bad side effect of this seemed to be the vulnerability of his body while he was out of it, and there were ways to deal with that. He would have to attend to a Pureblood's first priority and test whether this would affect his children in any way.

The situation with Pansy tried to sneak into his brain, but he shoved it out again. It could wait its turn.

He needed to decide what to tell Blaise. He wasn't inclined to be totally forthcoming, in light of Blaise's inexplicable first chance at meeting the Dark Lord in person. He had to tell him _something_, though Perhaps tonight he would pay a little visit to Blaise's head, and get a better feel for how to handle this.

But why wait to test the ability? It was the middle of the afternoon; surely Potter wouldn't lurk in that warded room _all_ day.

_You're weak._

"Shut up," he murmured, arranging himself more comfortably on the lounge.

_You're obsessed._

"Shut _up_!" He was not!

_Oh, just because you can't go an hour without thinking about Potter…_

"It's because I _hate_ him! I want to capture him so I can torture him the way he tortures me."

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that_.

"Shut _up_!" And he called up his mental image of Potter and said "Legilimens!" before he could get any more worked up.

The out-of-body rush seemed faster in daylight. Draco had just time to wonder belatedly if he would be visible in sunshine when he saw that poky Muggle house approaching. This time, however, instead of fetching up at the annoying window, he found himself zooming in on a dark figure in the back garden.

Potter was outside!

_Yes!_

WHAM!

Draco found himself full length on the painfully short grass, staring up at Potter, who was tinkering with some sort of machine. He showed no sign of registering Draco's presence. Draco reached out, but his grabbing hand went right through Potter's ankle. Potter still didn't react. He was muttering to himself as he unscrewed bits from his machine.

Draco eyed the machine askance. It had a long, clawed arm that looked quite menacing. Dismissing it after a moment, he indulged himself with a good long close-up study of the Boy who Lived in the bright sunlight.

He looked a lot scrawnier than Draco had expected. His cheekbones stood out sharply, as did the collarbones visible due to his far-too-large T shirt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His knees were knobby, too, under the cavernous cargo shorts he wore, and his trainers were falling apart. This, coupled with the wild hair and the grass stains, did not make a prepossessing figure.

Draco stood up and stared directly at Potter's eyes. They seemed dull and unhappy, but no matter. This was it! "Legilimens," Draco said again, and felt himself move forward, only to strike some sort of barrier and be thrown right back.

This just was not _fair_.

Potter obliviously reassembled his machine, hefted it into his arms, and turned toward the hedge that bordered the property. He was shifting his grip when the back door banged open and disgorged the biggest teenage boy Draco had ever seen – Crabbe and Goyle included.

This one was rendered more hideous by the way he was clad only in a pair of swimming trunks. He was accompanied by a similarly clad but skinny boy with a face like a rat.

"Potter!" the fat one snapped. "Piss off!"

Potter lowered the machine and glowered at the fat boy. "Piss off yourself, Dudders," he snapped right back. "I've things to do."

_Dudders_? What kind of ridiculous Muggle name was _Dudders_?

"Not here, you don't," said Dudders, clenching his fists and advancing on Potter, who fell back a step. Dudders was easily twice his size, and Draco could see muscle along with the fat. "Piers and I want the garden. Get out before I make you get out."

Draco was glad to see Potter's spirit wasn't entirely broken – he wanted that honour for himself, didn't he? – when Potter's scowl deepened. Dudders took another threatening step forward, and the rat-faced Piers said "You tell 'im, Big D!" in tones of glee.

Potter's eyes narrowed, and one hand left the machine and strayed toward his pocket. "You can give me ten minutes – _Big D_," he said.

"It's broad daylight," said Dudders, to Draco and Piers's confusion.

Potter shrugged and started up his machine. It roared to life and the claws on the extended arm blurred into motion. Draco, despite his incorporeal state, backed away. So did Dudders and Piers. Potter turned the claw machine on the hedge and swiped off a swathe of greenery in one go.

"He's crazy," said Piers, eyes wide.

"Yeah," said Dudders. "You haven't heard the last of this, Potter!" he shouted. He and Piers retreated into the house.

Potter continued to prune the hedge, but Draco could see his body shaking too greatly to be accounted for by the vibration of the machine. His eyes were very big behind his glasses, the angry spark in them faded into misery once more, which for some reason aggravated Draco. If Potter was miserable it should be because of him!

He got right up next to Potter and poked his scar. Potter flinched at that, and a stinging shock sizzled through Draco, so he pulled his hand away and tried once more to get into Potter's mind. This attempt failed as well.

Potter must be an Occlumens.

Well, nobody's shield was perfect. Draco would just find the weakness in that one, that's all. Potter could not stand against a determined Draco Malfoy.

With a wicked grin, he cast an itching hex at the soles of Potter's feet, said "Finite Incantatem," and woke up on the lounge in the gazebo feeling pretty self-satisfied.


	12. Chapter 12

Blaise was at a club when Draco "dropped in" on him that night, and had clearly been partying for quite some time. Knowing Blaise's penchant for recreational potions, Draco was sure that alcohol alone did not account for the degree of incoherence he found in Blaise's head. He left a command for Blaise to come see him in the morning for breakfast, and left him to his girl and his swimming head.

Blaise's intoxication had left Draco rather dizzy and sick, so he took a hot bath and went to bed rather than try any further excursions that evening.

The next morning he arrived at the breakfast table and found not only a wan-looking Blaise, but two aurors drinking coffee and failing to make conversation. He had forgotten it was the auror's weekly scheduled day of inspection – one of many conditions to his father's being allowed to stay at the Manor rather than Azkaban. Lucius and Narcissa were eating in frozen silence at their end of the table.

Draco gave his parents a nod as he took his seat and the house elf served his coffee, and turned to Blaise. "Good morning," he said. "Rough night?"

Blaise managed to smirk. "Fantastic night. Once-in-a-lifetime, even. But I left the pensieve at home." The house elf delivered Draco's breakfast plate – scrambled eggs and sausages – and Blaise turned a little green.

Draco clicked his tongue, then dug into his sausages with malicious relish. "Shame. Still, I could use your help later with the potions assignment."

Blaise nodded gingerly.

"What potion is that?" asked the elder of the two aurors, looking up from the notes he had been making.

Draco favored him with a chilly Malfoy how-gauche-can-you-possibly-be look. "A memory potion, a summer assignment from Professor Snape."

The auror only nodded and made another note. "We'll test it before we leave," he said.

Draco did not deign to reply to that, but finished his breakfast and took more coffee and Blaise down to his lab.

"Oh, like _that's_ not going to drive you insane all summer," Blaise observed, watching with interest as Draco zoomed around his lab, collecting the vial of legilimens potion and all the notes thereof.

"Evanesco," said Draco, and the vial was empty and pristine. As Blaise opened his mouth, presumably to protest, Draco Banished all the notes.

Blaise clicked his teeth together as Draco began setting up the lab for brewing their potions assignment, working at top speed and mostly using his wand. "Where did you send them?"

"Your house," said Draco, pausing in his casting for a moment. "I don't need to be caught with it all here, do I?"

"I guess not," said Blaise. He dropped his robe over the hook by the door, dumped a handful of sunflower seeds into a mortar, and started grinding them up. "So, anything else you discovered about it?"

"Not really," said Draco, measuring drops of hippogriff saliva into the cauldron. "That hot-pepper flavour appears to be unavoidable. Everything I can think of to tone it down also tones down the potency."

"How about the headache?"

"I don't recommend mixing it with hangover potion," Draco said darkly. Blaise's brows rose. "Some severe side effects."

Blaise nodded, probably assuming all the details were in the notes Draco had banished. Those notes did indeed include _some_ detail, hopefully enough to put Blaise off the idea of trying the combination, but did not mention the particular side effect that had claimed Draco. He had decided to keep that to himself as long as possible.

They put together the rest of their assigned potion in silence. As they were decanting it into vials, the door opened suddenly and the younger of the aurors swept into the room. Blaise started, and snarled as he spilled potion on the worktop.

"Let's have a look," said the auror, without so much as an apology, and aimed his wand at the cauldron.

Draco favoured him with a look of deepest contempt, then cast evanesco at Blaise's spill. The auror frowned slightly, checked the results of his scan, and said, "Perfect memory potion." He turned and held out a hand to Draco. "Wand."

Draco raised the Malfoy Eyebrow. "What?" he said coldly.

The auror scowled. "Give me your wand," he said slowly, as though Draco were mentally impaired.

Draco didn't move. "Because -?" he inquired, in the same cold voice.

"Because I need to test it. Priori Incantatem?"

"Face it, Draco," sneered Blaise. "You're not going to get any manners out of him."

"So I see," said Draco, easily out-sneering his friend. "Here then. Try not to get fingerprints all over it."

The auror snatched the wand and cast priori incantatem. They watched the evanescos and levitation spells come forth, then some silencing spells, locking spells (The auror snickered), and a lumos spell. Draco, who knew his last casting of legilimens should be getting close, was relieved when the auror cut off the priori incantatem at that point.

There was a knock on the door, and the other auror looked in. The younger auror glanced at him, then handed Draco back his wand without commenting. Draco took it in silence, never relaxing an expression of frozen disapproval he felt could rival even his father's.

"Good day, gentlemen," said the older auror civilly, and the two men left.

"Definitely going to drive you insane," Blaise remarked, after a moment of silence. He refilled his potion vial and started to clean up.

Draco stood where he was, glowering and turning his wand over and over in his hands. He was outraged that he was apparently expected to swallow this sort of treatment from such low-class people as those aurors. On the other hand, his father clearly could not be expected to remain in the even lower-class environs of Azkaban. This was going to be a horrible summer, all things considered.

"You all right?" Blaise asked.

Draco tuned back in and realized that while he'd been sulking, Blaise had cleared up their whole work space. "I'm fine," he said. "Just suffering a little from Muggle-lover exposure."

Blaise clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you want to bathe," he agreed. "I know I do. Tell you what; I'll see you tomorrow evening, say six-ish? You can help me with the next test of the new potion."

"Oh, really, can I?" Draco said sarcastically. "I'm not taking any more of that stuff."

"I will, then," said Blaise, unperturbed. "After all, we have to make sure it works on Mudbloods, don't we?" He grinned. "Should be fun."

Draco grinned back, although he was uneasy at the idea of Blaise running around loose on the potion for two days. "So it should. I wouldn't miss it."

"Come by my place around six, then," said Blaise. "We'll make an evening of it. You need a change of scenery."

"Assuming those ridiculous aurors haven't made some rule about my not getting out and enjoying myself," Draco muttered resentfully. "I'll let you know."

Blaise clapped him on the shoulder again, and went off to floo home. Draco went upstairs to take a long hot shower.


	13. Chapter 13

He was thwarted in his quest for a shower by Lucius, who called from his study as Draco passed, "Come in here, Draco."

Draco came into the study and found his father sitting behind the desk, face as blank as ever. His tentative move toward the chairs by the fire provoked a raised brow and a disdainful sniff, so he sank into the chair opposite the desk, feeling rather put upon.

"I trust you behaved as a Malfoy ought, with those –" another sniff " – aurors," said Lucius.

"Of course," said Draco. "Not that _they_ behaved in a professional manner, of course."

"Of course," said Lucius. "One can expect no better from these Muggle-loving fools. They have _dared_ – they have placed additional wards upon the Manor."

Draco shivered, as the extent of his father's rage became clear to him. He did not venture a reply.

"They tell me there is too much evidence of 'traffic' to and from the house," Lucius went on. "They will require that you and Narcissa register your destinations with them whenever you leave, and inform them when you leave and when you arrive." He made no mention of what the aurors had said regarding him.

Draco stiffened. "What? How dare they?"

"They dare much, now. They think they have the advantage," said Lucius. "They are, of course, incorrect, and they will pay dearly for this behaviour in due course."

"Blaise wanted me to go out with him this evening," said Draco.

Lucius waved a hand. "Do not allow these people to rule your life," he said. "Go with Blaise. Only be discreet in your choice of – entertainment." His wintry smile touched his lips.

"Yes, Father," said Draco. "Ah, Father?"

"Yes?"

"What sort of wards have they placed?" Would they register him leaving if he was out of his body, for instance?

"Niamh's Shield," said Lucius. "Quite simple to deduce; they do not think I am aware of what they placed."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Father."

Lucius nodded. "You may go."

Draco ended up hurrying through the hot shower, anxious to get back to his ward research. Now he not only had to figure out how to get through the ones on Potter's charming summer hideaway, he had to be sure the aurors wouldn't be tracking his extracurricular travels, either. Not to mention the reading and essay he had to get done for Professor Silver. He spent the whole afternoon in the library.

Seraphine Slytherin had strong opinions on magical education. Interestingly, she said nothing in particular about Muggle-born wizards. Draco did a little research on the historical background, and mentioned in his essay that in Seraphine's time the Muggle world and the wizarding world barely intersected at all. To Seraphine, suggesting that a Muggleborn could have magic would be like suggesting an ordinary dog could. The essay ended up being three and a half feet long, as Draco compared standards of magical education in Seraphine's time with current standards.

His ward research went a bit better. He found a quite useful spell to render most wards visible, so that he could tell by looking where weaknesses might be. He committed that one to memory.

His research on Niamh's Shield was more disappointing, though. It apparently could register him going through while out of his body. He needed to work on a way to cloak himself as he travelled (probably a good idea in any case) before he paid anyone outside the Manor any more "visits."

At five he took a shower and dressed in some of his favourite clubbing clothes, then gritted his teeth and flooed the address left by one of the aurors that morning. He informed the woman there that he was leaving the Manor for Zabini House, and, after a short mental debate, that he and Blaise Zabini would then be going out. No, he didn't know exactly where. Yes, you insignificant worm, he would inform the auror office when he returned.

Then he flooed off to Zabini House, in a mood to cause some mayhem.

Blaise fed him a lovely dinner before they went out. He was home alone, his mother vacationing with her newest spouse, so the two boys enjoyed a lavish dinner, including two kinds of wine, completely at their leisure.

"Are you sure you should drink that?" Draco inquired lazily, when Blaise poured the first glass.

"The potion worked for you combined with alcohol," said Blaise, shrugging. "And this is excellent wine."

"Whatever." Blaise was right, it was excellent wine. Two glasses of it, plus two of the wine they had with dessert, did a lot to ease his anger at having to account for his movements with the aurors. He did warn Blaise they would have to be a bit sneaky about their evening activities.

"It'll be a great day when the Dark Lord finally rules," said Blaise. "You'll be able to squash all manner of annoying little bugs." He finished his wine, produced a potion vial, and downed its contents with a flourish. Then he spent five minutes gasping, while Draco laughed.

"Are you sure we can't do anything about the taste?" he whined, when he had recovered somewhat and the two were getting ready to leave.

"Only at the sacrifice of potency," said Draco. "It's your choice if the trade-off is worth it."

The two boys flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and ordered butterbeer. Draco spotted red hair in a corner and realized half the Weasleys were congregated at a table across the pub from himself and Blaise. Miserable Muggle lovers. They probably knew exactly where Potter was. Probably saw him every damn day. One of them – one of the twins – looked up, spotted him, and sneered in his direction. He sneered back and pointedly turned away.

"Nasty clownish gits," he muttered.

"They're hardly worth your notice," said Blaise. "Okay, I'm going to go; wait about five minutes and follow me." Draco nodded, and Blaise got up and wandered unhurriedly towards the door that let out into Muggle London. His exit went completely unremarked.

Draco waited, sipping his butterbeer. He was just about to get up when a sarcastic voice at his elbow said, "Chased away your friend, Malfoy?"

He glanced up. Ron Weasley was standing there, holding a half-empty pint glass and looking a bit glassy as well as belligerent.

Draco looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. "Good Lord, Weasley, trying to play with the big boys?" he said mildly. "Looks like the bitter might not agree with you."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley responded. "At least my friends stick by me."

"Why are we having this conversation?" Draco wondered aloud. "Run along, Weasley, I get enough of you in the school year." Weasley looked truculent, and Draco reached toward his wand. "Off you go, _now._"

"Come on, Ron, he's not worth it," one of the twins called, and Weasley stomped back to his own table.

Draco got up, threw some money on the table, and favoured the entire room with a disdainful smirk. "Standards are getting lower every day," he said, loudly enough for the Weasleys to hear over their raucous conversation, and stalked towards the door that led to Diagon Alley.

Dammit, now he had to get back through and out to Muggle London without people noticing. He was a Malfoy, he didn't _do_ unobtrusive. Curse Weasley – such a good idea, that – why couldn't he mind his own business?

He was certainly not going to be thwarted by Ron Weasley. Draco smiled as an idea occurred to him, and headed without hesitation into Diagon Alley. Ten minutes later he was exiting the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London, swathed in a long leather coat and a large, enveloping hat.

He threw that hat into a waste bin the second he was away from the pub door. Now, where was Blaise?

Blaise had wandered a little way up the street and now came storming up to him. "Where the hell have you been?" he snarled.

"Getting past the Weasleys," Draco snarled back. "Drop it. I'm here now. Picked a target yet?"

"I thought we'd go into a Muggle pub," said Blaise. He pinched a fold of Draco's new coat. "Nice coat."

"Hands off," Draco said, but more amiably. "Do you even know where a Muggle pub is?"

"Well, I had plenty of time to find one, didn't I," said Blaise, and set off down the street. "This way."

It took about five minutes to get to Blaise's Muggle pub. It was very like the Leaky, bar the fact that the lighting was by elec-tricity and the average age of the clientele was about twenty. Draco and Blaise headed for the bar.

"Pint of stout for each of us," Blaise requested, when he had got the bartender's attention. The man subjected both boys to a searching glare, then dropped his gaze to the Muggle bill Draco laid on the bar. His eyes widened, and he pulled their pints without demur, then made the bill disappear. Draco and Blaise turned to survey the pub.

"Nicely done," Blaise murmured.

Draco shrugged. "Who needs Imperius when you have money?" he quipped. "So, have you tried the potion before this?"

"No," said Blaise.

"How do you plan to cover up your sudden collapse when you leave your body?" Draco wanted to know.

Blaise laughed. "You can hold me up and tell people it was my ninth pint of the evening," he said.

Draco laughed too. "Fair enough. Let me know when."

They sipped their pints and surveyed the Muggles before them. Draco found himself noticing that aside from the clothes, these people looked just like the ones drinking in the Leaky Cauldron.

There were groups gathered noisily around tables, solitary figures hunched over the bar, and men eyeing up the women in the place. Some of the women, and even some of the men, were quite attractive, too.

But they were Muggles. He mentally shook himself, and took a big gulp of his drink. He had a nice buzz on by now.

Blaise poked his arm. "Got it," he whispered in Draco's ear, which tickled. Draco smothered a laugh and decided to slow down with the drink. "See that girl over there?"

Draco looked. The girl in question was sitting by herself at the bar, drinking something dark and fizzy. She was by far the most conservatively dressed woman in the room, wearing a snug sleeveless top and a short-but-not-too-short denim skirt. "Yeah?"

"That bloke –" Blaise pointed to the other end of the bar – "has been checking her out all night. Watch this."

Thus warned, Draco set his pint on the bar and took Blaise's arm, as Blaise touched the wand hidden up his sleeve and murmured "Legilimens." A second later, Blaise's body sagged in Draco's grip.

The girl continued to sip calmly at her drink. Then she seemed to shiver, and her head came up. She looked down the bar; Draco registered that she was quietly pretty. Her gaze landed on the man Blaise had pointed out, and a slow smile curved her lips.

The man looked startled, but then smiled back and started toward her.

When he arrived, the girl turned toward him and laid a hand on his arm, murmuring something. Whatever she said widened the man's smile and sent his body curving possessively over hers. He got the bartender's attention and handed him some money, then took the girl's hand and they started toward the door.

What was Blaise doing?

"Come on," Draco said aloud, as the couple passed him. He hiked Blaise's arm around his neck and walked him out behind them. They paused outside the door, and the man pointed towards a small blue car parked nearby.

Blaise's victim shook her head and stepped up closer to the man, shaking her hair back from her face and curving her hands against his cheeks. She said something else; the man's face became intent and he moved in for a kiss.

Blaise took his weight back on his own feet.

The sultry look left the woman's face in an instant, replaced by horror. She tore herself out of the man's embrace, and her voice became audible to the two boys watching.

"What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? You asked me out here!" the man exclaimed, stepping forward and getting a grip on her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. "Don't be a tease now."

"I did no such thing!" she cried. "I don't even remember coming out here. You – you must have put something in my drink!"

"I was nowhere near you," the man said, starting to sound angry. Draco watched with a sort of horrified fascination. Blaise giggled. "You can't come on to me like that and then just change your mind."

He started to jerk the woman back into his arms. She cried out, obviously scared, and Draco stepped up to the pair of them.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked coolly. He could hear Blaise spluttering behind him.

"It's under control," the man snapped.

"Please," the woman said, sounding teary and frightened. "I didn't mean to come out here with him; I don't know what happened – please –"

Draco detached the man's hand from her wrist. "Looks like the lady changed her mind," he said.

"What business – " the man started. Draco fixed him with his most terrible Malfoy Glare, and the man's voice faltered.

"The lady changed her mind," Draco repeated. "They do that. Here. Go buy yourself a drink." He handed the man another Muggle bill and jerked his chin at the pub door. The man looked at the bill, gulped, and stumbled off.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked the woman, who was pulling herself together.

"Yes – thank you –" she said.

"It might be better for you to be elsewhere by the time he comes out," Draco suggested, voice still cool.

The woman nodded and pulled something small out of her bag. "I'll call a cab," she said. "Again, thanks."

Draco nodded and went back to the seething Blaise. He took his arm and marched him back to the Leaky Cauldron in silence. Once they had flooed back to Zabini House, he rounded on him.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"Wrong with _me?_" Blaise shouted. "What's wrong with _you?_ They were just Mudbloods!"

"You don't set a woman up like that," Draco ground out. "Even a Mudblood woman."

Blaise snorted. "She was just a Mudblood. You're not suddenly going soft on Mudbloods, are you?"

Draco turned around and punched him in the jaw. "Shut up!" he shouted. "You could have gotten me locked up! You know the aurors are watching my family; I don't know what kind of tracking charms they might have put on me. And even aside from that, you _know better_ than to do that to a woman! Any woman!"

Before Blaise could get up or reply, Draco threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, stepped in, and shouted "Malfoy Manor!"


	14. Chapter 14

Draco arrived back at Malfoy Manor in a confused tangle of arms and legs, feeling very off balance and sick to his stomach. All the different drinks were catching up to him, he realized, which was not doing anything to help his current anger. He didn't even know if he was angrier at Blaise for putting a woman in that position, or at himself for coming to the rescue of a Mudblood, or at Blaise again for putting him in a position where he felt even the slightest urge to rescue a Mudblood. Just on the average, he should stick to being angrier with Blaise, probably.

He was storming upstairs when Izzy appeared on the step ahead of him, cringing. "M-master Draco…"

"What!" he roared.

"M-master must floo the aurors," Izzy reminded him, prudently hopping to a higher step, out of Draco's immediate reach.

"Oh, for -!" Draco turned and stormed back downstairs and into the parlour. No way was he flooing the aurors' office from his own private room. They'd poked about in his life quite enough already. He slung rather a lot of floo powder into the fire and snapped "Aurors' office, Ministry of Magic!" The fire sent green flames halfway up the chimney, and he stuck his head in. The disorientation did nothing for his upset stomach.

"Mr. Malfoy," said the witch at the desk. "Back home, then?"

"As you see," said Draco sullenly.

"Thank you," she said, making a note on a ledger. They were _recording_ his comings and goings! As though he were some sort of criminal! When she looked up, she frowned slightly and peered more closely at him. "Are you all right?"

What? What did she care? "It's – been a rough night," he said slowly, disconcerted. Then he nodded sharply and withdrew from the connection.

A hot shower, he decided, would improve things immensely, especially if preceded by a potion for his simmering headache. Accordingly dosed, he relaxed under the hot spray and tried to marshal his brain into some kind of order. He had no illusions that Blaise wouldn't be around to have a rummage in his head, so he needed to shore up the Occlumency shields he'd been practicing.

To do that, though, he needed to soothe his currently wildly pinwheeling thoughts. Had to get his seething emotions under control, and turn his mind to the featureless grey mist that drew an invader in and confused him until he could be shoved out.

Easier said than done, that, at the moment.

You just didn't leave a woman at the mercy of a sexual predator. All pureblood children were raised with that precept. There were too few pureblood women left; their ability to produce healthy pureblood children was too precious. You could fight or hex a woman if the situation called for it, but there was _no_ interfering with her sexually.

He must have been drunker than he realized, to act as though that carried over to Muggle women as well. Although this one had been so confused and helpless…

But _Muggle_!

He couldn't dwell on this. She was a woman, and she'd been dangled like bait in front of a predator against her will. That was not on. He'd just ignore the Muggle part. You didn't treat pets that way, after all, why should Muggles be any different?

That decided, he moved on in his meditation, and was able to clear his mind in a reasonable amount of time. Shortly he settled under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened some time later by a shrill whistle and a sizzling noise. He started awake, and clapped his hands over his ears as the whistle continued. "Izzy!" he shouted.

The house elf appeared, wringing his hands. "It is the aurors' alarm," he squeaked. "I cannot make it stop, master. I am so sorry!" He began to bang his head on the post of Draco's bed.

"Stop that," said Draco. "Do you think I want you jostling me? Go down to the kitchen and hit your head there." Izzy nodded and fled. Draco flopped back in bed and covered his head with his pillow, but this did little to muffle the piercing quality of the whistle.

There was a single knock on his door, barely audible over the alarm, and it swung open. The older auror from this morning strode in and approached the bed, wand out.

This was absolutely, _positively_ not on! Draco leaped out of bed and confronted the auror, barely having the sense not to draw his wand on him. "What do you think you are doing?" he snapped.

The auror, who to his credit had stopped as soon as he saw Draco, waved his wand. Draco flinched very slightly, but all that happened was that the alarm stopped shrilling. Draco's ears rang in the aftermath.

He did not relax his outrage one iota, however. Damned if he was going to have these people traipsing in and out of his rooms at all hours. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded in his most freezing tones.

"Making sure you're safe," said the auror. "Someone tried to get in and tripped the wards. It seems they were focused on this room."

That put Draco a bit off balance. They claimed to be protecting him? Draco had no doubt this incident was Blaise's fault; who else would be after him? "As you can see, I'm fine," he finally said stiffly. "I don't appreciate being hurled from sleep at all hours."

"I think you might have appreciated whatever this intruder wanted to do even less," said the auror, unmoved. "I need to scan you for hostile spells, Mr. Malfoy." He did not wait for Draco to agree (which was fortunate, as Draco only huffed and crossed his arms), but swept his wand over him from head to toe.

"Well?"

"All clear," said the auror. "Good night, Mr. Malfoy. By the way, my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. We'll be seeing more of each other."

Draco did not reply to this, but Auror Shacklebolt did not seem to expect him to; he merely nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Well, that did answer Draco's question about the safety of travelling outside his body through those extra wards. Dammit. Perhaps he could get Professor Silver onto the subject of wards during their session tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

Breakfast that morning was consumed in chilly silence. Draco was under no illusions as to the degree of his father's wrath, and he had no intention of providing a target for its outlet. He ate as quickly as he could, though he did take the time to drink rather more coffee than usual.

He was just about to excuse himself with an inward sigh of relief when his father looked up and said, "Draco."

"Yes, Father?" So much for a clean getaway.

"What can you tell me about that _extraordinary_ disturbance last night?" Lucius asked, pinning Draco with a gimlet glare.

"The auror who burst in on me said someone tried to get through the wards," said Draco, clenching one fist in the napkin on his lap. "He said whomever it was seemed to be targeting my room."

"And?"

"And…it may have been Blaise. We had a disagreement last night, and he had taken his potion."

"I see," said Lucius. "You'll obviously have a word with him about this."

"Of course, Father," said Draco with his most evil smirk. "He can't be allowed to think such behaviour is acceptable." He started to get up.

"Quite right. And Draco – " Draco sat back down. "My study, this afternoon."

"Yes, Father," said Draco, and made his escape.

Dammit, he definitely would have a word with Blaise. He couldn't be allowed to get away with a.) trying to poke into Draco's mind, b.) causing Draco's room to be invaded by an auror in the middle of the night, or c.) causing Draco to have to endure Lucius' wrath and probable interrogation about the potion. Oh, yes, Blaise was going to suffer.

But first, Draco was going to go out and get a look at the wards on the house. Since it was now abundantly clear that he would be paying no more visits to Potter until he figured out how to get through them undetected, he was keen to get a move on. Accordingly, he grabbed his broom from his room and flew out to circle the house.

It was such a beautiful day, he couldn't resist a few recreational aerobatics, but eventually he pulled himself together and stationed his broom a little way away from the house. Taking a deep breath, he invoked his viewing spell.

Five seconds later, cursing and blinking the horrendous glare out of his eyes, he tried again, this time with his eyes almost closed until he could accustom them to the light. There were a _lot_ of wards on the house.

The topmost – and brightest – layer was the Niamh's Shield put on by the aurors. They'd done a mighty thorough job, too; though Draco scanned the entire ward very carefully, he found no breaches or even weak spots. He'd have to find some way of phasing his ethereal form through it without setting it off, which would take more research and experimentation. How was he going to get the necessary wand work past the auror's inspection?

Well, he'd worry about that later. Under the Niamh's Shield another ward swirled darkly. That one was also new. It appeared to be geared towards anti-Apparition, although it wasn't the standard spell for it. It was very dense. Lucius, for example, wasn't getting through _that_ in a hurry when the Dark Lord called. Draco wondered momentarily if the Dark Lord's call would even get through that ward, then smacked himself on the forehead. The Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard alive. Mere wards would never be able to block his call.

This ward, which he dubbed the Dark Ward, was almost impossible to see through, especially with the swirling of its energy, but Draco thought he could make out the topmost of the manor's original blood wards underneath it. So probably the aurors had only added these two wards. At least his research would be finite.

He cancelled the viewing spell and rubbed his eyes, then directed his broom out over the lake to the gazebo. Once there, he called "Izzy!"

The elf appeared with a pop. "Yes, master Draco?"

"I want a snack – raspberry lemonade and biscuits," said Draco, then tilted his head, staring at Izzy thoughtfully. "Izzy, were you inside the house just now, before I called?"

"Yes, master Draco," said Izzy. "I bring your snack now." And he vanished.

Hmmm. So those powerful wards had no effect on house elf Apparition. How did elf Apparition differ from the Wizarding kind? Draco made a note to find out.

It really was a beautiful day. Draco lounged on the chaise and contemplated the lake as he enjoyed his snack. Perhaps he'd go swimming this evening, after he'd put the Fear Of Malfoy into Blaise. What with his lessons, his meeting with his father, and the necessity of dealing with his annoying friend, it promised to be a stressful day. A swim would be a good way to finish it off.

Of course, tormenting Potter would be even better. Damn the wards! Although…

Draco got back on his broom, flew up until he had a good view of the entire estate, and invoked his viewing spell again. The property's blood wards flamed up, jagged with power, but they didn't concern him. Hadn't the aurors warded the property as well as the house? He would, if he were an auror.

They didn't seem to have, though. That made no sense to Draco, although it cheered him up. Instead of swimming this evening, it looked like he could pay Potter another visit. He was dying to find out what the prat thought he was doing in some Muggle suburb wielding landscaping tools. It seemed an odd hobby for him to have taken up – more Longbottom's style, really.

Grinning to himself, Draco headed down to the house to prepare for his lesson with Professor Silver.

Professor Silver took his paper without comment, and said, "We will be working on various aspects of protection magic today. I am given to understand that you have mysterious assailants showing up in the middle of the night. There is no reason to allow such persons to deprive you of sleep."

"Yes, Professor Silver," said Draco, and spent the next hour and a half taking notes on the structure of a class of shield spells he had never heard of before. They were mainly for protecting one's person, but could be expanded slightly if necessary. He spent the second hour and a half learning to cast these shields, which Professor Silver tested by throwing some quite nasty curses at him. By the end of the lesson, he'd perfected the shield, but he had bruises and little cuts all over him.

"Pain is a great teacher," said Professor Silver unsympathetically, when he glared. "For our next lesson I want you to devise a shield of this class to be used on an inanimate object. Something precious."

Draco barely managed to nod respectfully and escort her to the door. Once she had gone, he staggered up to his room and into the shower. Healing spells always seemed to help him more if administered under running water. Mindful of his father's summons, he hurried, and twenty minutes after the Professor had left he could be found, clean and healed and impeccably dressed, knocking on Lucius' study door.

"Yes," said Lucius, and Draco went in. "Ah, Draco. Sit down." He indicated the chair in front of his desk – no big surprise there. Draco sat down and waited as impassively as he could.

Lucius said nothing for a long time, but damned if Draco was going to be the first to speak. After several minutes, Lucius' wintry smile touched his lips. "Professor Silver tells me you are working on shield charms," he said.

"She felt it advisable," said Draco cautiously.

"Well, these are troubled times," said Lucius. "I am disappointed, Draco. It appears that you are far better informed about this potion of Mr. Zabini's than you saw fit to share."

Disappointed. That would be painful. "I am sorry, Father. The information has come to me in small bits."

Lucius sat back and steepled his fingers. "Summarize for me."

Draco swallowed. "It's a potion designed to duplicate the effects of Legilimency and Imperius," he said plainly. "We discovered that the user leaves his body when he casts legilimens and enters the mind of the…target. It seems the target is unaware of this happening. The casting does not require eye contact. When the user casts Imperius, the instruction remains until the user uncasts the Imperius again."

Lucius' eyes were very cold. "Indeed."

"Yes. Ah – the effect lasts 48 hours with one dose, and seems to be increased by combination with alcohol. The taste is – extreme."

An eyebrow quirked. "More extreme than some of Severus' creations? I wonder."

Draco smiled involuntarily, but it died quickly at Lucius' continued cold expression. "It – works on Muggles, but not on house elves."

"No one needs to cast Imperius on a house elf," Lucius snapped. "Any other effects?"

"A truly crippling headache when it cycles out of the user's system at the end of 48 hours," said Draco, with perhaps more feeling than he meant to. "Blaise was working on a way to ease the headache and improve the flavour. So far all his ideas reduce the efficacy of the potion."

"Ah. And he tried to use this potion on you?"

"I suspect so, Father."

"You know what you must do."

"Yes, Father."

"Get his notes and his supply of the potion. Obliviate him. Bring them to me," said Lucius dispassionately.

"Yes, Father."

"Go."

Draco went, hardly daring to believe he was getting out of this so easily. But, as he went through the door –

"Crucio," Lucius murmured, and Draco dropped to the hallway floor in agony. Vaguely he heard his father approach to stand over him. "I trust you will not keep information from me in future, Draco."

"N – n –o," Draco choked out, then screamed, unable to help himself.

"Finite incantatem." As he lay there gasping he heard his father's footsteps walking away. "For Salazar's sake, Draco, get up."

He couldn't. He crawled to the stairs and up to his room.


	16. Chapter 16

Draco Malfoy had not cried since the day after his sixth birthday, when he had discovered his beloved pet kneazle dead in its bed. He had never been allowed another pet.

He cried now, in gulping, unrestrained sobs of pain and anger and shock, as he soaked his aching body in a hot bath. _His father had cast cruciatus on him!_ Draco was no stranger to the back of his father's hand, or even (on rare occasions) the flat of his cane, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. The pain in his body wasn't even as severe as the blow to his mind and his world.

He had no idea how long he wallowed in the tub, sobbing and sniffling and generally falling apart. The water was charmed to stay hot as long as he was in there, so he couldn't use it to measure time, either. But there finally came a time when he sagged, exhausted, against the edge of the tub, feeling as though he couldn't have one more drop of water inside his body. Also, he couldn't breathe through his nose or open his eyes more than a small slit.

Holding a washcloth soaked in the hot water against his face finally enabled him to blow his nose. After that he spelled the cloth cold and held it to his eyes for a few minutes, until he could open them more fully. At last he was able to climb slowly from the tub.

Once again it was a night for his softest pajamas and his stuffed dragon. Draco huddled under the covers in bed, still hiccupping, and tried to pull himself together. He had to be ready for when his father had possession of the potion. Under no circumstances could he let Lucius know he'd been in his mind, had commanded his behaviour. Who knew what Lucius would do? Draco shuddered at the thought of more pain. His whole body felt like one exposed nerve. Even his cuddly pajamas and silk sheets rasped his oversensitive skin, and he couldn't seem to stop shaking.

His thoughts scattered randomly when he tried to concentrate. Eventually he fell asleep, still trembling. The only thing he ever remembered from his dreams that night was paralyzing fear.

When he woke the next morning, it was with grainy eyes and a splitting headache. It took him less than a moment to decide to have breakfast in bed today; he wanted his resources and defenses built high and thick before he saw his father again.

He also needed to decide what to do to Blaise. Blaise had definitely been instrumental in making Draco's last few days horrible. On the other hand, he had demonstrated the problem of the Niamh's Shield so Draco hadn't had to trip it himself. Should that earn Blaise any leniency?

A smidgen, Draco decided, styling his hair. That decided, he dressed to intimidate and headed downstairs to floo to Zabini House.

When he stepped out of the floo, however, he found himself in the auror's office he'd seen when he – oh, damn, he'd forgotten to floo them with his destination before leaving! The auror at the desk flicked a lock of fuchsia hair out of her eye and smiled at him. She looked vaguely familiar, somehow.

"Going somewhere?" she asked.

Draco drew himself up. "Zabini House," he said coolly.

She nodded. "Anywhere else before you come home?"

This was _so_ humiliating. "No," he snapped.

"Settle down," she advised, her smile fading. "It could be a lot worse." She made a note in her logbook, then gestured towards the fireplace behind him. "Off you go. Mind you let me know when you get home."

Draco, turned on his heel, tossed the powder, and snarled, "Zabini House." His mood was now absolutely perfect for tearing a strip off Blaise.

Blaise was annoyingly not home. Really, you could always rely on him for the maximum of aggravation in any given situation. Draco took it upon himself to search Blaise's room and his potions lab – nowhere near as good as Draco's – and help himself to all the notes and flasks of potion he could find. He banished all but one vial of the potion and had a quick look through the notes; they were all there and complete.

For a moment he contemplated editing them just a bit – just enough to keep his father from being able to use the potion. Then he shuddered. His father would find out. He always found out, and Draco was newly afraid of the consequences of his wrath. His whole soul shuddered at the idea of more cruciatus.

Pulling himself together, he flooed back to Malfoy Manor, and immediately contacted the auror office. The instantly recognizable Mad-Eye Moody was in there talking to the pink-haired witch; Draco flinched a little as the man turned his gaze on him.

"Young Malfoy, is it?" he rasped. "What do you want, then?"

"Hi, Draco," said the witch, as Draco gritted his teeth. "Back home, then?"

He made himself nod, keeping a wary eye on Mad-Eye Moody.

The witch made a note in her log. "Thanks for calling," she said. "My name's Tonks, by the way. Talk to you later."

"Good morning," said Draco stiffly, and withdrew his head from the fireplace. Who went around calling themselves _Tonks_, for Merlin's sake? Although the pink hair was rather fetching.

He hardly had time to ruminate on this, for his father came into the room even as he was dusting himself off, and said, "Well?"

Draco held out the vial and the sheaf of parchment. "The potion and the notes, Father."

Lucius took them with a look that made Draco very uneasy. "And Blaise?"

"He wasn't home." At Lucius' narrow-eyed glare, he hastened on. "I'm going back this evening to take care of him."

"See that you do," said Lucius coldly. He turned on his heel and stalked out. Draco waited tensely to see if he would curse him again, then sagged for a moment in relief before summoning his broom and heading out to the summerhouse. No need to wait until tonight, after all, when he could get into Blaise's head at any time.

He double checked the wards on the property before settling down on the chaise. The aurors really hadn't added to them that he could see, which seemed very strange. What, after all, was to stop Lucius from walking outside and apparating wherever he wished to go, if he couldn't go from inside the house? It was too easy, and Draco was suspicious.

So he cast his newly-learned shields around himself once he was ready to go. He also cast a surreptitiously-learned invisibility spell on himself; hopefully it would affect his astral form as well, and help him avoid tripping any wards he hadn't been able to detect. Then he built an image of Blaise in his head and cast Legilimens.

_Curses!_

He'd forgotten the potion would be cycling out of Blaise's body this morning! He remembered now, though, as Blaise's agony slammed into his own head. It was as effective as occlumency; Draco ducked out at once. He would try back later. There was no reason for him to endure Blaise's pain.

What to do in the meantime, though? Draco grinned evilly to himself.

_Potter…_


	17. Chapter 17

After some consideration, Draco cast a Disillusionment spell on himself rather than trusting to the Invisibility spell he'd just learned before casting his Legilimens for Potter. With luck, the Disillusionment would affect his astral form, too, and thus fool any wards he'd not managed to detect, either around Malfoy Manor or around Potter's poky little summer place.

The rush toward Potter seemed to veer off in a new direction toward the end. This was, Draco discovered, because Potter was at a little play park on a different street, moping about on a child's swing. He really was awfully scrawny, Draco realised, looking him over critically. He'd not looked that bad at school; he must have lost a lot of weight in the short time they had been away from Hogwarts. It didn't do him any favours.

Potter swung, and glowered moodily into space. Draco gathered himself, focussed on Potter's eyes, and made a spirited try at getting through his mental shield.

It bounced him back immediately. Potter didn't so much as twitch.

Nothing daunted, Draco gathered himself for another try, this time aiming for the middle of Potter's forehead. The boy's Occlumency was provoking; Draco preferred to enshroud invaders of his mind in a featureless grey mist, confuse them utterly, and then slide them out of his mind. Potter seemed to have constructed adamant walls around his mind that permitted nothing through in the first place. Such a rigid barrier had to be more brittle than Draco's method, Draco reasoned. It was not going to defeat him.

He paused as a little girl stopped by the swings. After some consideration, she climbed onto the one beside Potter, and pumped her legs a few times without much success.

"Mister?" she said to Potter.

Potter started and looked up at her. "Yeah?"

She swung her feet illustratively. "Could you give me a push?" she asked, with a winning smile.

Potter smiled back, even the clouds of depression in his eyes lightening. Draco swallowed. Potter did have a beautiful smile – Merlin, how girly could Draco be? "Sure." Potter got up and reached for the chains of the girl's swing, giving her a few good pushes until the swing was travelling in a wide arc.

The girl shrieked with glee. "Thanks!" she called.

"No problem," said Potter with another smile, and ambled over to a nearby wooden picnic table, settling onto it and watching the girl with the smile lingering in his eyes.

Draco followed him, and was just about to launch himself at Potter's shields again when a grown woman came up to Potter. Potter's eyes grew wary as he watched her approach, and his hand strayed down to the pocket in the side of his baggy shorts.

"Thank you," said the woman, adding, at Potter's puzzled look, "That's my daughter, on the swing."

"Oh," said Potter, King of Small Talk. The woman smiled at him and moved away, and Draco readied himself once more.

This time he was interrupted by a girl about his own age. These Muggles were certainly a chatty lot, he fumed – although the girl was certainly more ornamental than either of the other two. She had short, spiky blonde hair tipped with green, and was dressed in a tiny white tee shirt that stopped just under her generous breasts and a pair of leather shorts that barely cleared her hipbones and left an endless expanse of tanned leg bared to view. Hmmm, if Muggle girls were allowed to dress like _this,_ there might be something to recommend their culture after all.

The girl smiled at Potter with bright red lips. Potter smiled back, but Draco noticed the way he leaned back away from her, just slightly.

"Hi," the girl purred. "I'm Cat. I like your hair." Well, manifestly she approved of the just-stepped-out-of-bed look, judging by her own hairstyle.

"Hi," said Potter. "Um – yours too. I like it, I mean." _Good grief_, Draco thought.

Cat stepped closer and put a hand on Potter's knee. Draco stiffened – _how dare she touch what was his!_ – and Potter flinched almost imperceptibly. "Thanks," she said. "You know, I think I know you."

"Yeah?" Potter's eyes narrowed. Draco tried to swipe Cat's hand off Potter's knee, and of course couldn't do it.

"You're Big D's cousin, aren't you?" Cat went on, and Potter froze. He jerked his knee out from under her hand, too – good for him. "The one who goes to St. Brutus', right?"

_St. Brutus'? _

"Right," Potter said coolly. "You know my cousin, do you?"

Cat replaced the hand on his knee. "Not well. I just see him around, you know." She shrugged. "But I've heard about you." Her smile widened slyly, and she licked her lips. "I like my boys bad. And I hear you're bad."

_I've wandered into a porn show_, Draco thought incredulously. And… _Even the Muggles are gagging for him. Well, no one gets him until I've had my fill!_ He readied a Stinging hex.

Potter once again removed his knee from Cat's grip, and stared back at her with a raised eyebrow, conjuring an iota of suave from some hitherto unsuspected resource. "Too bad for you," he growled, and Draco shivered. Merlin, Potter could be hot.

"I'm pretty bad myself," Cat purred back, reaching out again. Draco cast his hex, and she yelped and jerked her hand back.

Potter jumped to his feet, eyes gone flat and alert, scanning the park for signs of the caster, though of course he couldn't see Draco. Cat, looking confused but – _dammit_ – intrigued, was reaching towards Potter again, when the huge teenager Dudders lumbered into view, followed by his rat-faced friend and a couple of other boys his age.

"Cat!" he barked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Cat faced him, tossing her head. Her multiple earrings jingled. "What's it look like, then?"

Dudders arrived. "Looks like you're asking for trouble," he said, and turned to Potter. "I know _you're_ asking for trouble. Stay away from her."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "All yours, is she?" he said mockingly. "Does she know that?"

"I don't belong to you," Cat snapped, moving toward Potter.

"Like hell you don't," said Dudders, almost pleasantly. He reached out, faster than Draco had thought he could move, snagged a handful of Potter's shirt, and hauled him up in the air. Potter's toes actually dangled, but his face held no fear. "Stay away from her," Dudders repeated, and flung Potter away from him.

Draco cast another Stinging hex, this time at Dudders' hands, and then lunged at Potter as he arced away from his assailant. It was plain what was about to happen – and Draco, of course, couldn't stop it.

Potter's head struck one of the metal supports of the swing set with a nasty clang. The next second, Draco came out of his lunge and found himself – at last - in Potter's head.


	18. Chapter 18

Not that Potter's head was a happy place to be at the moment, what with the ringing pain and the seeing double. Draco struggled to orient himself as Potter staggered, vaguely hearing shouts from other people in the play park and grunts of approval from Dudders' little gang.

Potter pulled himself together with surprising speed. Draco knew his head was pounding, his stomach was lurching, and his vision was horribly blurred – no, wait, that was because his glasses had been knocked off. Good grief, why had Draco never thought to target Potter's glasses in Quidditch? A simple "Accio," and Potter wouldn't be able to see a foot in front of his face. He'd never catch a Snitch again.

In any case, the little girl from before was crying. Her mother was comforting her at the same time as she was holding something to her face and speaking into it. Draco wasted no time wondering what that was about, though, because Potter heaved himself to his feet, put his head down, and shocked everybody by running forward and ramming his head into Dudders' stomach.

Dudders went down hard, knocking over two of his friends in the process. The little girl's mother screamed almost as loudly as the little girl. Potter dropped to one knee, staggered up, and swung a fist blindly; it connected with Piers' jaw with a solid crack, and Piers went down as well. Cat screamed.

Potter's head was still splitting, and all the screaming was not helping. Draco hunkered down and tried to separate his awareness from Potter's, at least until Potter sat down and got a headache potion. Potter did drop down into the grass right then, and Draco realised he was so dizzy he simply couldn't remain upright any longer. Cat ran to him, clearly preparing to kick.

That was not acceptable. Nobody got to torture Potter except Draco, and clearly Draco was going to have to stake his claim in no uncertain terms. He gathered himself to cast another stinging hex, wondering if it would work while he was in Potter's head.

As Cat's foot went back and Draco pulled the power for the cast, he became aware of a great surge under him. It made him feel extremely hot and itchy for the moment that it roared up, but in the next moment something had slammed it back down, and Draco cast his hex. Cat shrieked and stumbled back onto her butt.

_Who is that?_ Potter wondered. _If the damn Order people are going to interfere, they might as well do the thing right. They can Obliviate people afterwards, after all. _

People were watching Potter? That gave Draco a chill. He tried to look around, but Potter had his eyes shut and didn't seem inclined to open them until someone laid a hand on his brow. Then they shot open, and Draco beheld the little girl's mother leaning over Potter. She was offering his glasses in her other hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly. "Don't try to sit up. You probably have a concussion."

"I'll be fine," said Potter, but he subsided onto the grass again. Still, he looked around the play park before he did so; Dudders and his friends had gone. "Where'd they go?"

"They saw me on the phone and ran off," said the woman. "Didn't want to deal with the police."

"The police?" Potter sat up suddenly; he and Draco both groaned at the lurch of pain and nausea.

"I said not to sit up," said the woman. "Of course the police. I'm surprised they're not here yet."

_The Order probably intercepted them_, Potter thought. _Can't have the Boy-Who-Lived being questioned and possibly removed from his lovely safe home. _

Draco was stunned at the amount of bitterness in that thought. Whoever these Order people were – and Draco had a vague memory of his father sneering about some sort of anti-Dark Lord Order in the past – Potter clearly didn't like them too much. Nor was he at all enamoured of his summer home.

Well, it was a poky Muggle house, after all.

"Just lie still for a few minutes," the woman was saying, as Potter tried to get himself upright. "They should be here shortly, and we can get some medical attention for you."

"Ma'am, thank you," said Potter, sitting up anyway. Draco swore to himself; he had seldom been this physically uncomfortable. In fact, this was only topped by the Cruciatus his father had cast. As his brain flinched away from dwelling on that, he marvelled again how Potter seemed to be able to ignore the discomfort and function coherently. "But I'll be fine. I really just need to get home."

"But don't you want to have those boys charged?" the woman asked, holding on to Potter's arm.

Potter evidently knew better than to shake his head. "It won't do any good, ma'am. It's – it's me that'll get in trouble if he gets charged. Just – just leave it, please."

"It's not right," she said doubtfully, but she let go of his arm.

"I'm sorry," said Potter, which Draco thought was a ridiculous thing to say, and lurched to his feet. The little girl patted his hand, and he glanced down at her.

"Be careful," she said.

"I will," Potter said, and started off toward the gate. Draco tried to settle himself; he was terribly uncomfortable, but he'd taken so long to get here that he was reluctant to leave just yet. Besides, this way he'd get to see exactly where Potter's hideaway was.

When Potter was out of sight of the play park, he headed into an alley and leaned against the fence, breathing slowly and deliberately. Draco felt that itchy surge again, but was distracted by the way the pain, nausea, and dizziness slowly receded to a level where he could ignore it easily. As Potter opened his eyes again, Draco saw a shimmer in front of him, and then the witch Tonks appeared, obviously from under an Invisibility Cloak.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked anxiously.

"Just brilliant," said Potter. "Sorry, Tonks, my head still hurts. Listen, the next time you guys want to take a hand in my little chats with Dudley, either don't, or use something more than stinging hexes to make your point."

Tonks looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

Potter tilted his head. "Someone cast a couple of stinging hexes at Cat and Dudley. It wasn't me, we all know the Ministry would be on me in a second for that. You're saying it wasn't you?"

"No, it wasn't," said Tonks. "The area's been pretty wizard-free, except for you. I'll check it out. Maybe you'd better get back home and stay there until we figure this out."

"I was on my way back home," said Potter, not addressing the "stay there" part of her suggestion.

"Be careful," she said, and donned the Invisibility Cloak again. A moment later a dustbin crashed over onto its side, and Draco heard her muffled swearing.

Potter sighed and resumed walking.

After about ten minutes, during which Draco took strict note of all the street signs, he arrived at the door of Number Four, Privet Drive. He paused on the threshhold, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then opened the door very quietly and went in. Draco noticed he was taking care that his footsteps made no sound.

To no avail; a bony blonde woman put her head into the entry hall from the living room and snapped, "There you are! Get into the kitchen and get started on supper. Remember, Dudders has guests coming tonight, so make sure everything is perfect."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Potter murmured, to Draco's shock, and headed for the kitchen without a twitch of outrage. As though he were _used_ to being spoken to like that! By a _Muggle_!

First, Potter laid the table, setting it for six. The china and flatware were both quite overdone and florid, in Draco's well-bred opinion. Then he started dinner, a full three-course meal. Draco was impressed; Potter was clearly expert at this. There were no wasted motions or signs of hesitancy, and only occasional glances at a recipe. The smells that shortly permeated the room were mouthwatering – even though Draco didn't currently have a physical mouth.

_How can he do so badly in Potions?_ Draco wondered.

As Potter got things ready to serve, the doorbell rang, and Draco heard Dudders' voice greeting someone. A moment later Aunt Petunia, dressed in a rather unfortunate flowered dress and a frilly apron, came into the kitchen and inspected Potter's work.

"Well enough," she said. "Now get upstairs, and remember to keep quiet."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Potter again, and headed out of the room and up the stairs.

Draco assumed he was going upstairs to change into some decent clothes for dinner, and then was taken up by his recognition of Potter's room from his dreams. He only vaguely registered a rattling sound at the door after it closed, as though someone were locking it – a lot. He emerged from his thoughts to realise that Potter had flopped down on a bed that felt even harder than the one in his dream, and showed no signs of moving anytime soon.

Potter was quite hungry; Draco could feel it. Why wasn't he going down to dinner?

Potter lay in bed for about an hour, listening to the murmur of voices from downstairs. When his owl started to squawk, he got up and shushed her, then carried her to the window, very carefully removed one of the bars that appeared to have been sawed through – _bars?_ Draco goggled – and let her fly out.

Draco turned his attention to Potter's thoughts, but they raced by too quickly for him to get much of a grip on them. He did see several images of a man he recognised from wanted posters in his third year as Sirius Black, his mother's criminal cousin. Overwhelming sadness and guilt accompanied these images. How could Potter possibly have been involved with Sirius Black?

Suddenly there was a shuffling at the door, and the sound of eleven – Draco counted – locks and bolts being undone. Potter remained lying on the bed, but looked toward the door as it opened and Aunt Petunia came in. She was carrying a bowl half full of soup – not the soup Potter had made for dinner – which she plunked down on the bedside table.

"Go use the loo," she said, and Potter obediently got up and did so.

Draco got a good look at - and feel of the heft of – Potter's assets, and cheered to himself. His dreams hadn't done Potter justice.

As soon as Potter was back in his room, having cleaned up and brushed his teeth as well, Aunt Petunia went out and re-fastened all those locks. "You have ten minutes," she said though the door, and her footsteps could be heard heading away.

Potter wasted no time in slurping down the entire serving of soup – it was cold, and not meant to be served so – practically licking the bowl. Then he laid the bowl down by the door and stripped quickly out of his clothes, leaving himself clad only in loose and threadbare boxer shorts.

My, he was skinny. Draco could count every rib.

When the ten minutes were up, the locks rattled and the door opened. An obese, red-faced man with a moustache that should be outlawed snatched up the bowl, flipped off the light, and slammed and locked the door, all without speaking a word to Potter. Potter lay in his uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling.

Draco needed time to process all this. Besides, Potter still had a damn headache, and had shown no sign of intending to take something to alleviate it. Decision made, Draco said, "Finite Incantatem."

Nothing happened.


	19. Chapter 19

Hours later, Draco finally let himself rest, drifting in the recesses of Potter's mind. No efforts of his had had the slightest effect; he was well and truly stuck behind Potter's Occlumency shields.

This was a disaster. What would his parents do when he was missed? What would happen to his body, which he had left lying on the chaise in the gazebo wearing nothing but a very small swimsuit and a Disillusionment Charm? Just his luck to return to a body in the throes of pneumonia, assuming he was ever able to get back. And how long would his body survive without him, anyway?

Also, Potter was the world's most restless sleeper. He couldn't be still for two minutes together, always twitching and rolling and muttering. Draco had been holding himself as separate from the other boy's mind as he could, but now he was too tired; he let himself slip fully into Potter's thoughts.

They were not very visually oriented at the moment, it transpired. The lack only magnified the other senses, though. Draco dropped straight into a well of delicious sensation; the most erotic experience he had ever had even in the fevered reaches of his own imagination.

Afterwards, as Potter – still asleep -- lay recovering from his orgasm, Draco dazedly marshalled his thoughts and realised some things: one, the person in Potter's arms had very definitely been male; two, though he was plainly taller and heavier than Potter, he had very definitely bottomed; and three, he had been very definitely blond.

He had very little chance to assimilate that – he thought his distant body had probably come, that dream had been so intense – when Potter flung himself over on his side, goose bumps rising on his skin. Cold dark mist was filling his mind.

Draco didn't like this at all.

The mist grew colder, and he began to hear a confused tangle of voices…

_"Stand aside, you stupid girl…" _

_"Not Harry, please not Harry…" _

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

Potter whimpered at the blaze of green; Draco echoed the whimper at the sudden flare of the pain in Potter's forehead. The green faded, then the view swirled into a churchyard and a feeling of dread.

_"Kill the spare…" _

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

And Draco recognised Cedric Diggory. Potter moaned, "No-o-o…" but didn't wake.

Now Potter – and perforce Draco – was bound to something hard. The cringing little man Draco knew as Wormtail slashed at his/their arm; Draco hissed as Potter cried out at the pain. The pain in his/their head was steadily rising.

The Dark Lord boiled up out of the cauldron – Draco, seeing him naked, gagged. _This_ was what his father served? A _Malfoy_ bowed down to this revolting thing?

"Imperio!" cried the Dark Lord, but Potter would not bow. Draco felt him push off the curse; not easily, but quite successfully. Now Potter was fighting – _duelling the Dark Lord! _

_"Crucio!" _

Both boys writhed and howled, struggling up out of the dream.

The door banged open, the light blazed on, and a meaty fist caught Potter a ringing blow on the ear. "Shut up, Potter, decent people are trying to sleep!" the hideous uncle bellowed.

Potter gulped and gasped and scrambled for the other side of the bed, but his uncle grabbed his wrist and dragged him back. Draco felt the bones grind, and then snap. Potter gasped.

"What have I told you about all this caterwauling?" the uncle was demanding, flinging Potter over on his belly and holding him down with an arm leaning into his back. His free hand shoved Potter's face down into the mattress.

Potter struggled for air, unable to get the leverage to throw his uncle off. He was going to suffocate; what would happen to Draco if Potter died with him in his head? This was unacceptable!

Heavy footsteps, Dudders' voice: "Need the belt, Dad?"

"Good idea, Dudley," the uncle grunted, and the footsteps retreated. All too soon Draco heard them returning.

What in the world was Potter _thinking?_ A simple _Expelliarmus… _

Though of course Potter didn't have his wand. The hand left the back of Potter's head and he surfaced like a drowning man, dragging air into a burning throat. Draco was starting to panic. Was Potter seriously going let himself be beaten by a Muggle?

Yes, apparently – the belt whistled down and pain exploded across Potter's back.

Draco was not having this. He focussed intently on the weight holding Potter down, reached for all the power he could find, and shouted "Expelliarmus!" He felt the itchy surge he had felt twice before rush up, and wrenched at it before it could all be crushed down by whatever that opposing force was.

It felt as though the room exploded.

After a few stunned moments, during which there was no sign of the uncle or Dudders, Potter creaked upright and fumbled his glasses onto his face. As he turned, a wail like a dying banshee suddenly sounded behind him; he whirled, and Draco beheld Aunt Petunia standing in the doorway, eyes widened as far as they would go, screaming. She had remarkable breath control.

The room was destroyed. The window was shattered and half the hallway wall had been taken out; a cold breeze wafted in, and Potter shivered. Dudders was sprawled limply against one of the other walls. There was no sign of the uncle.

Potter was probably gaping like a fish.

Petunia's scream died momentarily as she gasped for breath, then she focussed on Potter and lunged forward, going for his throat. "You've killed them, you freak!" she shrieked.

Potter staggered back, but she followed, getting her bony but really quite strong hands around his throat. Potter tried to pry them off, but was obviously hampered by his broken wrist. Draco helpfully cast his handy Stinging hex, and she yelped and let go. A second later she cracked Potter across the face with all her weight behind the blow.

As Potter stumbled away, trying to hold her off, Draco lost patience and snarled "Stupefy." She dropped in her tracks.

Draco could feel Potter's horror and confusion. After a minute Potter seemed to collect himself, though; he lurched across the room and grabbed his wand, holding it steady even as he struggled into a threadbare and billowing T-shirt.

_Jeans would be hopeless_, Draco heard him think as he stepped cautiously over to Dudders. After a moment, during which Dudders didn't stir, Potter fumbled to find his pulse. He couldn't at first – Draco shared his momentary spike of panic – but then he felt it, very faint.

"Oh, god," Potter said aloud. "Oh, my god, what is going on?" His throat was aching, his head was splitting, and his back was on fire; clearly the uncle knew how to get the most mileage out of the belt buckle. Almost reflexively Draco tried to get out of his head, to escape the pain, but he bounced right back.

Then a voice at the door said, "Harry? Are you all right? What happened?"

Potter looked up, and there was Auror Shacklebolt and the werewolf, Remus Lupin, standing in the door with their wands ready. Draco heard other voices in the house and recognised Auror Tonks' and Mad-Eye Moody's.

"I – I'm not sure," said Potter at last, and slumped onto the floor beside his cousin.


	20. Chapter 20

Potter had not actually passed out, Draco realised. But he was shaking, his back hurting, and his mind was reeling with fear and anger and shock.

Lupin approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder as Auror Shacklebolt inspected the room. As Draco watched, Shacklebolt encountered Petunia. He checked her over swiftly and then moved her to Potter's ridiculous uncomfortable bed, but didn't revive her.

"Harry?" Lupin was saying. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah," Potter said, after a moment. "I think so, but I don't know what happened."

"It doesn't look like anyone got in," said Shacklebolt. "That won't last, though. These wards are like tissue paper. A first-year with a borrowed wand could get through them."

Draco experienced a thrill of horror rather than elation at this news.

Meanwhile, Lupin's nostrils flared. "You're hurt," he said, tilting Potter's face up for closer inspection. "You're bleeding."

"My back," Potter explained, moving his shoulders a bit and grimacing. The T-shirt was sticking to him in a couple of places; clearly the belt buckle had broken the skin. "Uncle Vernon –"

Lupin snarled and circled Potter, gingerly pulling the shirt away from his body. "What did he do?" he demanded.

"He hit me with something," said Potter, fresh anger entering his tone. "A belt, I think."

Lupin looked up and caught Shacklebolt's eye. Draco sighed; their conclusions were plain as day.

Shacklebolt came over and said gently, "Harry? I need to check your wand."

Potter handed it over, using the other hand to fend off Lupin's attempt to remove the T shirt. "Professor, I've only got my pants on under here," he protested. Draco could feel the heat in his face.

"I need to see your back so I can cast a healing spell," Lupin explained. His voice was soothing, but Draco could sense fury underneath it. Vernon would shortly be the target of a furious werewolf, if Draco was any judge.

"It's okay," said Potter. He was watching Shacklebolt cast Prior Incantato on his wand. Faint with age, the image of a locking spell appeared. "That's me locking my trunk right before I got on the train," Potter added.

Lupin and Shacklebolt traded another look, but before they could speak, Auror Tonks peered around the ruined door frame. Her hair was now deep blue tipped with glittering silver.

"St. Mungo's Portkey is ready," she said briskly. "We've got to get him out of here. Anyone else need to go?"

Potter lurched to his feet, and Draco swore. So what if Potter's dreadful uncle was hurt? Served him right! Potter was hurt too, for Merlin's sake - what would make him sit still and shut up? Would he have to be killed first? And why did that thought make Draco sad as well as impressed?

"We'll send them both," said Shacklebolt, indicating Petunia and Dudders, neither of whom had revived. Tonks came over to Dudders, giving Potter's shoulder a comforting squeeze that also let her keep her feet as she tripped on a piece of wall as she went by, and checked Dudders over quickly.

"Broken bones and a concussion," she reported, and waved her wand. Dudders' body rose into the air and drifted through the destroyed wall into the hallway.

"What's – " Potter started – then a wave of chills washed over him and he threw himself flat just as a bolt of deadly green spell light flashed through the window. It flew over his head and took out more of the bedroom wall. "Owwww," he groaned, echoed more emphatically by Draco.

"Get him out of here!" Shacklebolt snapped at Lupin, while Draco was trying to recover from his shock. "We'll sort the rest of this out at Headquarters."

"Right," said Lupin, spinning around from where he had just fired a spell back through the window. Without further ado he pulled something out of his pocket, seized Potter's hand and clamped it under his on the whatever-it-was, and said, "Headquarters!"

The Portkey jerked them away just as another curse blasted in through Potter's window.

Potter folded up in a defensive crouch as soon as they landed, his belly lurching with fear. Fear that hadn't shown up when an Avada Kedavra had just almost gotten him in the head. How could a Portkey trip be worse than that?

"It's all right, Harry," said Lupin gently. "We're at Headquarters."

Potter straightened, embarrassed. "Right. Um – just don't like Portkeys."

"That's understandable," said Lupin, still in that gentle tone.

Why was that understandable? What was so terrible about Portkeys?

"Let's go have a look at your back," Lupin went on, a hand on Potter's shoulder, starting to steer him forward in the pitch darkness.

"Can't you get a light in here?" Draco wondered aloud. Of course, neither Potter nor Lupin responded.

"How long has this been going on, Harry?" Lupin whispered as they tiptoed. They were sure being stealthy for people having reached a haven.

"What?" Potter whispered back.

Lupin sighed. "Your uncle. Hitting you. How long, Harry? Why didn't you say something?"

Potter was honestly shocked. "There was nothing to say," he protested.

"Harry, we could have done something," Lupin said.

Potter's voice rose a bit. "He's never done that before!"

Like Lupin was going to believe him. Even Draco barely believed him, and he was in Potter's head and knew he was telling the absolute truth.

"Harry!" Lupin said, also raising his voice. "It's all right to tell. He has no right to do that to you. We'll sort him out, don't worry."

"He's never hit me before," Potter snarled through his teeth.

"Shhh!" Lupin said sharply, grabbing Potter's arm and clearly failing to notice that he didn't flinch at the sudden touch.

_What in Salazar's name?_

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS!" screamed a harsh voice. "HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK –"

Black? Draco's mother's family?

"Dammit," said Lupin, letting go of Potter. "Lumos." As the light flared he went over to a truly horrific portrait of an old woman and began struggling to pull its curtains shut. "Harry, a little help here?"

Potter started, and then came over and seized the other curtain. Draco could feel the spells on it tingle on Potter's hands.

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!" shrieked the old woman. "VILE, TAINTED BLOOD, POISONING MY HOUSE –"

"SHUT UP!" Potter roared suddenly, and Draco felt the wild surge come up. This time the opposing force was just a little too late; magic blasted out of Potter and struck the portrait.

The old woman's eyes went wide, and she turned and ran out of the portrait. A second later the canvas was reduced to shreds.

Potter gasped and backed away.

Lupin stared at him. "Well – done, Harry," he said after a minute, in a stunned voice.

Potter was inspecting his own hands. "I – I don't have my wand," he muttered. "I don't know how that happened."

"We'll ask Professor Dumbledore when I call him," said Lupin decisively. "He'll help us figure everything out."

_Oh, great_, Draco thought.

_Oh, great_, Potter thought. _Just what I need right now, more freakish accidents for Dumbledore to not explain until it suits him._

Draco was stunned. Potter _didn't_ want to go running to Dumbledore?

"Meanwhile, let's get you cleaned up," said Lupin, and led the way down to a basement kitchen. It was immaculate, and for some reason this surprised Potter. Why would he expect filth?

"Wow, what happened here?" Potter asked.

Lupin smiled. "Well, the house is yours now. Sirius left you everything." Spike of shock and grief from Potter, not enough to mask Draco's own anger. Why would Sirius Black leave Potter _anything,_ especially a house that should rightfully go to Draco because of his mother? "Let's just say Professor Dumbledore had a very eager volunteer to help get it ready for you."

"Oh," said Potter, still stewing with guilt. Then came disgust. "What about Kreacher?"

Draco knew that name, didn't he?

"He's disappeared. Actually, he belongs to you now; you could summon him. It might be a good idea."

More disgust, mixed with rage. "I never want to see that filthy little toerag again," Potter snarled.

"He knows a lot, Harry," Lupin murmured. Potter seemed struck by this, but said nothing. Lupin sighed. "Let's heal your back. Then you can have a bath while I alert Professor Dumbledore and the Order about the attack."

_Just what I need_, Potter thought again. He didn't say anything, though, just wormed his shoulders through the enormous neck of the T shirt and pulled it down until he was wearing it like a kilt. Goosebumps popped up all over him as Lupin gaped.

"When was the last time you had a decent meal, Harry?" the werewolf asked at last, moving around behind Potter. He cast cleansing and healing charms, and Draco sighed along with Potter as the pain faded from Potter's back.

"I haven't been too hungry recently," Potter said defensively. Draco could see that Lupin saw right through that one, and that this only reinforced his belief that Potter had been beaten as well.

Lupin didn't say anything about that, though. He just smiled and said, "Go have a bath. I'm sure Molly will arrive and start cooking as soon as she hears what happened."

Draco's mood darkened as Potter's lightened. Great, now there would be Weasels in the house with him.

"This is all I have to wear," Potter pointed out, stopping in the kitchen doorway.

"I'll leave some clothes outside the bathroom for you," said Lupin, smiling.

"Thanks," said Potter, and went upstairs, holding his T shirt kilt snugly about his waist.

The bathroom was large and well-appointed, not as nice as the Prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts or even Draco's own bathroom at Malfoy Manor, but not far off, either. Draco felt Potter's pleasure at the cleanliness of the room and the thick towels lying ready, and wondered what the place had been like before.

"Dobby's a miracle worker," Potter muttered. And didn't Draco know that name, too? Whoever he was, he must have made a real transformation in here.

Never mind that! Potter had started the tub filling and was taking off his clothes!

Just as he got his pants off, there was a quick knock and the door swung open. Potter yelped and dived for a towel, then gaped up in horror at Professor Snape.


	21. Chapter 21

Draco also gaped up in horror at Professor Snape. The man was a Death Eater – The Dark Lord's Left Hand! Could Lupin not protect Potter better than this? Now Draco's Potter was going to die – even worse, he was going to die with Draco still stuck in his head!

Professor Snape's hand went into his robe pocket. Potter tensed, and the boiling surge of his power returned, though he didn't seem so much scared as angry and embarrassed. Draco himself was nearly gibbering in panic. He readied a hex, since Potter definitely seemed to be falling down on _that_ job.

Then Professor Snape withdrew a small cloth bundle from his pocket and stood with it in his hand, his eyes raking disdainfully over Potter's skinny frame. "I see that for once Lupin did not exaggerate," he drawled.

Lupin was in league with Snape? What? Wait, that couldn't be…

Draco's mind suffered a slow and very disorienting one-eighty shift. _Snape_ was in league with _Lupin?_ More importantly, Snape was _not_ in league with the Dark Lord? Draco wasn't stupid; Professor Snape was clearly a spy for _somebody_, and if it had been the Dark Lord, Potter would not have kept winning all these years whenever he was confronted by the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters.

He wondered if his father knew. He wondered why that thought worried him. He realised his respect for his professor had grown at the idea that the man did not bow before the deformed thing Lucius Malfoy called Lord. That realisation made him sad.

"Professor," Potter gulped, not relaxing in the slightest. Draco could feel his embarrassment and his dislike of the man – but also his lack of surprise at his presence in "Headquarters" and the total absence of any thought that Professor Snape might be here to hurt, steal, or kill him.

"Put this in the bath water, Potter," said Professor Snape, tossing the bundle. Potter's hand snapped it out of the air just as Draco registered it moving. Damned brilliant Seeker skills. Also, absolutely no expectation of the bundle being a secret Portkey, or – _oh!_ Draco suddenly realised why Potter might be leery of Portkey travel, but it was a parenthetical observation. The bulk of his thoughts were still focussed on his shocked conviction that Professor Snape was _not at all_ who Draco had always believed him to be. "It will help with the bruising. Let me see your wrist."

Potter held up his injured wrist. It was ringed with bruises, and hugely swollen. Professor Snape took hold of Potter's hand and pulled his arm out straight; Potter gasped but did not cry out. (Draco did.) The Professor then rested his wand on Potter's wrist and muttered something; there was a nasty crack as the bone healed.

Professor Snape dropped the wrist. "Since you hate Skele-Gro so much," he said coolly. "See me after you eat."

"Yes, sir," Potter muttered.

Professor Snape sneered at him and swept out, closing the door with a thump. Potter jumped forward and locked it, then sniffed at the cloth bundle he held.

Draco identified herbs for healing, pain relief, and soothing of mental trauma. Potter clearly did not; Draco could feel his continuing confusion. Nevertheless, he threw the bundle into the rapidly filling tub. Aromatic steam rose, and Potter took a deep breath and did relax. Then he took a few minutes to brush his teeth before climbing into the bath.

The hot water and the herbs combined to leach away all remaining pain from Potter's body – even the headache seemed to fade almost to nothing. Potter sighed and lolled back against the rim of the tub, rather lazily swiping a flannel over his body to get rid of the sweat and blood. Draco luxuriated in the bath quite as much as Potter; possibly more, since Potter had seemed rather accustomed to physical discomfort, which Draco most certainly was _not_.

After awhile, Potter emptied the tub and refilled it with clean water, then lay soaking, his thoughts drifting. He was looking forward to some of Mrs Weasley's cooking, and happy to be away from his relatives' house.

_As who wouldn't be,_ Draco thought to himself, gladly seizing on Potter's ruminations as a distraction from his own confusion. He felt so disappointed, but couldn't decide in whom, or why – Professor Snape, the spy; his father, the subordinate?

The awful uncle having hit Potter made him angry, but not really surprised. Draco wondered at that, until he realised that Potter saw it as a logical progression. _Had to expect it sooner or later_, Potter said to himself, _what with me waking him up every night when it's so hot and hard to sleep anyway. Can't have Moony making a giant fuss about it, though._

_At least he has someone to make a fuss_, Draco thought, suddenly bitter. Lucius had used Cruciatus on Draco, and no one could possibly be expected to ride to the rescue. Damn Potter's ingratitude anyway.

Potter's thoughts had drifted on, to a sort of surprised gratitude for the herb bundle Professor Snape had given him. "Never would have expected it from him," he said aloud, swirling his hands through the water and clearly enjoying the tickle of the current he created on his skin. "Is it time to admit the man has facets?"

He laughed a little at himself. "Maybe not. Maybe he just wants to impress Moony…" He swirled the water some more and smiled at the sensation. "Slytherins in love." He laughed a little more. "Better Moony than me…"

What? What? Draco's brain was going to explode! Surely Potter was only speculating!

"Moony wishes anyway…must be the voice…" Potter was rambling on, sweeping his fingertips lightly down his own chest. "Mmmm. Still, for hot Slytherins…"

An image of Draco himself – startlingly accurate, considering he was stark naked – drifted into Potter's mind. Draco gasped.

"Yeah…" Potter murmured, running his fingers over his chest again. His nipples peaked as he took a shuddering breath. Draco gasped again, and then groaned as Potter shivered.

"Draco," Potter whispered. His fingers traced back up his body, over his throat, to his lips. The sensation was delicately electric. "Just want to lick you all over…" He licked the pads of his own fingers instead, and moaned as he then dropped them to pinch his nipples.

This was very disorienting, but Draco was definitely enjoying it. On a whim, he approached the fantasy image of himself in Potter's head, and touched it curiously. The next moment, he found himself inside it, with Potter's hands locked behind his neck and Potter's lips devouring his. Just as in his own dreams, Potter tasted of chocolate.

Potter's mouth left his and ran down over his neck, biting at the cord there. Draco shuddered and gasped, throwing his head back. "Yeah, Potter…" he muttered.

The mouth left him. "What did you call me?" Potter asked, backing off and frowning into Draco's eyes.

"Uh – Harry," Draco corrected. He wanted those hands back on him. This did not feel like a fantasy at all.

"That's _better._" Not least because in a fantasy of Draco's, Pot – Harry would never be this assertive. His hands were all over Draco, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and his mouth had returned to Draco's neck, sucking fiercely.

"Uhhh," Draco managed, clenching his own hands on Harry's bony hips. Harry crowded him backwards, and suddenly, somehow, he was in the tub with Harry on top of him, squirming and running his mouth down Draco's chest to clamp on a nipple. Harry bit, and Draco howled.

His hands came up to grasp Harry's head, tangling his fingers in the damp, soft hair, but Harry's own hands came up and pinned them at his sides instead. "Uh–uh," he said indistinctly, sucking on Draco's other nipple. Draco writhed. "Don't move. Hands down."

What? No way was Harry going to top him – Harry's hands ran firmly over his thighs and between them. Okay, maybe Harry _was _going to top him. The strong hands, one on his cock, one on his balls, left at once when he tried to lift his hands. He subsided with a whimper, and they returned to their work.

Not to move was so, so hard…he felt like there was a pit of lava boiling in his center. Harry had no mercy, trailing kisses and bites all over Draco's body, his hands never ceasing their work. Maddeningly, they slowed whenever Draco started to twitch and gasp too much, keeping him balanced on a razor-edge of pleasure 'til he thought he would lose his mind.

Finally, finally, there were fingers preparing him. Draco shoved back onto them with a grateful moan, despite the way he would never ever accept such a thing in real life…and Harry allowed it. He nibbled very gently at the edge of Draco's foreskin, and Draco howled again and nearly threw him off, he writhed so hard.

"That's it," Harry muttered, eeling upward and taking Draco's mouth in a bruising kiss. At the same time, Draco felt his cock go in, all at once, right to his center, touching off fireworks all the way.

"Harry!" he screamed.

"Draco!" Harry groaned, pulling back and thrusting again. It felt like his full weight pushing on Draco's prostate. Unable to be still any more, Draco's arms came up and clamped Harry against him and his hips snapped up to meet Harry's next thrust.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet all too soon Draco was screaming and so was Harry and they were both covered in Draco's come and Draco was full of Harry's.

Afterward, they drifted in the cloudy water, hearts pounding, bodies shaking. Eventually Harry lifted his head and kissed Draco softly, his tongue soothing the bitten places on his lips. Draco kissed back, his arms loosening and his hands running gently up and down Harry's back.

"Mmmm," said Harry lazily.

"Yeah," Draco murmured, not even shocked at himself yet.

"Wish you were really here…" Harry murmured, dozing, and his fantasy image of Draco faded. Draco came back to himself, but couldn't bring himself to do anything other than doze as well. There would be time enough to panic later.


	22. Chapter 22

When the water turned cold, Harry woke up. Quickly he showered off and got dried and into the clothes Lupin had left out for him. He was starvingly hungry.

Draco was still feeling a bit dozy and shocked, but he started to perk up as Harry approached the kitchen and delicious smells began to surround him. Harry threw open the door to reveal a moderate crowd; he had eyes only for one redheaded woman, however, and strode directly to her.

"Mrs Weasley, I'm so glad you're here," he said, hugging her. "That smells fantastic!"

Mrs Weasley laughed and hugged him back. "I'm glad to see you have an appetite, dear," she said. "Have a seat, and let's get you some supper."

"How are you, Harry?" the Mudblood asked as Harry dropped into a chair between her and the Weasel. "We heard –"

"There was an attack at my house," said Harry, accepting the full plate Mrs Weasley handed him and scooping up a forkful of mashed potato. "It's all very confused; Shacklebolt said the wards were really thin."

"That's not all we heard, mate," said the Weasel, running concerned eyes over Harry as he ate. "We heard your uncle attacked you first."

Harry took his time chewing and swallowing; he really didn't want to get into that part. "Yeah," he said at last. "He went sort of mad, actually. It was pretty hot, and I woke him up –"

"Harry!" The Mudblood interrupted, her voice rather shrill. Harry winced. "There's no excuse for what he did! If you'd just told us –"

"I just did." He returned to his food.

"Before, she means," said the Weasel doggedly. "We'd've rescued you again, you know."

A warm feeling of affection suffused Harry, and he smiled up at the Weasel. "I know you would have," he said. "You didn't need to. This has never happened before."

"Harry, it's okay to tell –" the Mudblood began, but Harry cut her off.

"It's never happened before, Hermione," he said firmly, looking her in the eye. "I would have said something, I swear. It's not like you guys didn't know they weren't feeding me – " He broke off suddenly, looking around at the crowded table.

"I knew it," murmured Lupin wrathfully. "Lily's own sister!"

Harry applied himself industriously to his supper, all too aware – and Draco with him – of the various shocked and pitying gazes of the Order of the Phoenix upon him.

For that was who these people had to be. Draco pulled himself back from Harry's emotions in order to get a better look around. There didn't seem to be all that many of them, really, and to his surprise he recognised most of them.

There were the Aurors Moody (Draco might have known), Shacklebolt, and Tonks. They were now conferring among themselves, Moody's nasty eye rolling towards Harry periodically, as if to measure how much he was eating.

There were the Weasel's parents, and also his rather terrifying older twin brothers. They were all definitely watching how much Harry was eating. Mrs Weasley restocked the plate whenever the supply ran low. Her daughter sat across from Harry and gazed longingly at him. Draco sneered. _Not a chance, Weaselette_, he thought to himself. _What does Blaise see in you, anyway?_

There was a shady-looking character down at the end of the table, next to Professor Snape – Draco's mind tried to stutter at that, but he ruthlessly moved on – and of course Lupin.

Even more of course, at the head of the table sat Albus Dumbledore, his benevolent gaze also fixed on Harry's plate.

Conversation was stilted. After awhile Harry pushed his plate back and said, smiling, "I may never have to eat again. That was great, thanks, Mrs Weasley."

"You're welcome, dear," said Mrs Weasley. "You just let me know whenever you're hungry, and I'll fix you something. He's certainly not going back to those people!" This last obviously addressed to the Headmaster.

"No, he's not," Lupin growled.

"Certainly not this summer," said the Dumbledore. "We must ascertain what happened to the wards, and decide how best to repair them, before it can even be considered."

"It can't even be considered," said Lupin flatly. Draco looked at him in increased respect. "They starve him, Albus. His uncle hit him. He's never going back."

"It remains to be seen," said Dumbledore calmly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's no good, Professor Lupin," he said, a bit bitterly. "I've asked to go somewhere else every year, but the wards there are supposed to be the safest available. Blood wards."

"Clearly this is no longer the case," said Professor Snape silkily. "What could have damaged your blood wards enough to let a Killing Curse through, Albus?"

"Um –" said the Mudblood. "Could it be because Harry's uncle hit him?"

"It is a possibility," said Dumbledore, sighing. "Harry, perhaps you could tell us what happened?"

Even Draco bristled at the hint of disappointment in the old man's voice. What, did he think Harry walked up and spat in his uncle's soup or something?

"I was asleep," said Harry coldly, also angry at Dumbledore's tone. "I had a nightmare, and he woke me up when he grabbed me."

"A nightmare?" Professor Snape asked, leaning forward and glaring accusingly at Potter, like a nightmare was somehow going to be his own fault.

"Just a nightmare," Harry snapped. "He grabbed my wrist and pinned me down, and Dudley suggested the belt."

Dudley? Draco supposed that was a better name than Dudders, but not by much.

Shacklebolt leaned forward next. "Is that normal behaviour for - Dudley, was it?"

"Dudley, yes. And yes, it was. He's a bully," said Harry. The Weaselette gazed at him sadly, and the Mudblood held his arm protectively. "Why?"

"We found some spell residue on him," explained Tonks. "It looked sort of like the Imperius, but milder."

Shock jolted through Harry. "He'd hate that," he murmured. "He's terrified of magic; they all are." Louder, he asked "You think someone made him tell my uncle to hit me?"

"Suggested, perhaps," said Shacklebolt. "And perhaps not; the residue was very faint. You've never –"

Harry laughed incredulously. "I got a warning from the Ministry when a _house-elf_ did magic in my house," he said. "You think they're going to miss Imperius?"

_And fuck you_, he finished in his head, echoed by Draco. Weren't these people supposed to be on Harry's side?

"No, of course not," said Shacklebolt soothingly. "I was thinking more of accidental magic, actually."

"Uh-huh," said Harry. "Well, as I said, they busted me for Dobby's handiwork. If I'd cast on Dudley, even accidentally, you'd have heard about it when they dragged me in front of the Wizengamot."

Tonks laughed nervously, apparently catching – as the other adults seemed not to – how angry Harry was. "They don't do that for accidental magic, Harry," she said reassuringly. "Not even for magic on purpose, when you're underage, unless it's Dark Arts or something."

"Not even then, if your name is Malfoy," the Weasel muttered.

Draco's anger at that coincided with Harry's own burst of added temper. "Really? 'Cause I saw them last summer over a Patronus Charm, you know. A charm that saved Dudley from getting Kissed, come to think of it."

"What?" echoed more or less in unison all around the table.

"Ask Professor Dumbledore; he had to come defend me," said Harry, jerking his chin sullenly at the Headmaster.

The incredulous gazes shifted to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded. "It is quite true. I think we can all agree that the Ministry is unreasonable on the subject of Harry Potter."

_I'll say,_ Draco thought, stunned. He remembered Harry's Patronus during the O.W.L.'s – who could miss a bloody great stag trotting around the room? – but he'd thought it was a fluke, or a very recent skill. Not that Harry was casting them right and left, and in the presence of actual Dementors.

"I was not implying that any of this was your doing, Harry," Professor Dumbledore went on. "I am simply gathering the facts. Does Dudley spend a great deal of time on his own?"

"Not really," said Harry slowly, accepting the apology rather too quickly, in Draco's opinion. "He has a gang of two or three friends who are with him most of the time."

"Boys his own age?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Yeah."

"Then it's probable they wouldn't notice a quick Charm cast on him, especially if it didn't make him behave unusually," said Shacklebolt.

"So what exactly happened?" Hermione asked with a touch of impatience. "How did the Death Eaters even find Harry's house?"

"Those wards were tissue-thin," said Shacklebolt. "Plenty thin enough to find the house through them, as well as cast curses. My question is, who knew to target Dudley?"

A puzzled silence fell over the table.

"So what you're saying is, someone Charmed my cousin to what? Want to beat me up?" Harry said slowly. "Tell my uncle to beat me up?"

"A Death Eater wouldn't know how little persuasion he'd need," said Dumbledore in a regretful tone. "I believe the prevailing idea of your home life is a bit – rosier."

"Indeed," said Professor Snape coldly.

"How'd the Death Eaters know who Dudley is?" Ron asked, swinging a suspicious glance onto Professor Snape. "And how come you didn't know about this plan?"

"This is not a plan of the Dark Lord's," Professor Snape stated. "I suspect someone is currying favour. All it would take is someone your own age observing who picks Potter up from the train to identify the target."

"So they Charm my cousin – probably at King's Cross – and he eventually is so nasty, or gets my uncle to be so nasty, that the blood wards are compromised. Then they can track him and get curses in," said Harry in a tone of reluctant admiration. "It's a pretty good plan, actually."

"Harry!" the Weaselette cried.

"Not that I'm sorry it failed," he added, and must have grinned at her, judging from her besotted expression. Draco snorted.

"But we're not just looking at Death Eaters with kids our age," said the Weasel. "It could be any one of the little snakes."

_I know of several Death Eater kids in Ravenclaw_, Draco thought. _At least two in Hufflepuff, and one at least in Gryffindor, you prat._ Of course, realistically, the plan was too clever not to be originated by a Slytherin.

Blaise, for example, working towards his early initiation?

And _not telling Draco?_ Draco ground his teeth.

"That's a good point," Tonks was saying. She looked over at Shacklebolt and Moody. "We'll check them out."

"What's Malfoy been up to this summer?" the Weasel asked.

"Ron, he's not the originator of every evil plot," said the Mudblood in weary tones.

"No, some of them are Voldemort's," said Harry, and his stomach was sinking. Draco's own hurt was slightly mitigated by how very unhappy Harry was on a personal level that Draco might have come up with this plan.

"Actually, Malfoy's not been up to much," said Tonks. "He's stuck pretty close to home."

"As a matter of fact, I'll be seeing him today when we do our home inspection," said Shacklebolt. If Draco had been in his body, he would have had heart failure. "We'll find out if it was him, don't worry."

Oh, no they wouldn't. But they would find out what Draco had indeed been up to.


	23. Chapter 23

23.

Draco ignored Harry for most of the rest of the evening in favour of his own concerns. It certainly wasn't as though he didn't have them; Blaise's probable perfidy, Professor Snape's shocking true allegiance, Draco's own duties in response to these things, and definitely not least, Harry's clear interest in him. Draco had thought his little lust issue was entirely one-sided. It was disorienting to realise it had hopes of being indulged in real life.

Most overriding of all, however, was obviously what was going to happen tomorrow when the Aurors visited Malfoy Manor. Draco didn't even know if anyone had found his body out there in the gazebo, although he assumed so, as he was no longer allowed to spend nights away from the Manor. His absence should have been noticed at dinnertime that first night.

As a good Death Eater's son, it was clearly his duty to let his father know that Professor Snape could not be trusted, but Draco felt a horrible sinking sensation when he thought this. He genuinely liked and respected Professor Snape, and did not want to be the one to betray him. The man was not stupid; surely if he was betraying the Dark Lord he must have a reason, right? A good reason?

But what could be a good reason to betray the Dark Lord? The Dark Lord was the one who was going to bring the Purebloods the pre-eminence they deserved, the one who was going to rid the world of the threat that the Muggles presented. Professor Snape had never seemed pro-Muggle before…

As though conjured by Draco's thoughts, Professor Snape himself snapped, "Potter!"

Both Harry and Draco started. Harry had been reading a book about Animagi, which he dropped at the sound of Professor Snape's voice. "Yes, sir?"

"Did I, or did I not, tell you to see me after you ate?" Professor Snape demanded.

"Sorry," said Harry, scrambling to his feet. "I forgot."

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "You forgot. And on you rests the fate of the Wizarding World, if the papers are to be believed. You disgust me, Potter. Have you been practicing your Occlumency?"

_Oh, yes_, Draco thought.

"Yes," said Harry. "I haven't had any visions this summer."

"Hmmm," said Professor Snape. Then, to Draco's shock, he whipped out his wand, pointed it at Harry, and snapped "Legilimens!"

Draco felt the pressure on Harry's mental shield right away. Just as it had done when Draco tried to break it from the inside, it moved and stretched with the pressure, but did not give way. Draco spared a moment to wonder why it did this, when it had been rigid every time he had tried to get in from the outside. He pressed tentatively against the pushed-in place, but it wasn't even slightly weaker. Dammit.

"Finite Incantatem." Professor Snape studied Harry with a frown. "That is an unusual shield, but it seems adequate. You say you have had no visions?"

"That's right. Sir," Harry added hastily, in the face of the Professor's ferocious scowl.

"And you clear your mind every night?"

"Yes, sir…" But there was some guilt there; Harry really didn't do it every night. He probably would have found Draco if he had, with Draco's luck.

"There is something odd…different…" said Professor Snape, his frown slanting more toward suspicion.

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine, sir. Um – thank you for healing my wrist."

"You're welcome. Be sure to clear your mind every night, Potter," said Professor Snape, and swept out.

"Yeah, okay," Harry said to the empty room, and shook his head. "Wonder what he meant by odd."

"Maybe you've gone mental, mate," said the Weasel, coming in as he said this.

"No," said Harry, a grin in his voice. "He would have just said 'you've gone mental, Potter.'"

"Good point. Oh well, who cares what he thinks anyway?" said the Weasel. Draco spluttered with outrage, unnoticed in Harry's head. "Up for a game of chess?"

"Is that even any fun for you?" Harry asked, following the Weasel over to the chess set near the fireplace. "Considering you win in a few moves anyway?"

"Sure," said the Weasel, picking up a white and black pawn and hiding them in his fists. "You're getting better, you know."

"Really?" Harry chose the Weasel's left fist and discovered he would be playing black. Sighing, he began to set up his pieces.

"Yeah. I used to give you a handicap, you know. Not anymore."

Harry was a bit disgruntled by this revelation, but he said nothing, and they began to play. Harry was really very average at chess, Draco discovered. And whatever the Weasel said, he was still prolonging the game on purpose. He clearly ignored several excellent opportunities to check Harry as the game progressed.

_Well, well, the Weasel has a skill_, Draco mused. _Oh – Harry should move his knight – _there – _and take the Weasel's rook…_

Harry moved the knight.

_Could he have thought of that on his own?_ Draco wondered, a little nervous. _He's not totally abysmal at chess, and it was a pretty blatant move. Hmmm…next Harry should move his bishop over _there…

Harry moved the bishop. The Weasel smiled approvingly at him, but then performed a move Draco hadn't forseen, took the bishop, and put Harry's queen in danger.

Draco was more nervous now. Was Harry aware of him? Not consciously, surely, or he would have not only let him out, but kicked him out. Yet he was performing the chess moves Draco had thought of, as Draco had thought of them. Could that really be coincidence?

While Draco had been pondering, the Weasel had gone ahead and won the game. "You had some good moves, Harry," he said. "Wanna play again?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "Um – could we go get a snack?"

The Weasel looked surprised. "Of course. It's your house, you know. Let's go."

They headed for the kitchen, encountering the Mudblood and the Weaselette chatting over cocoa. They stopped talking immediately when the boys came in, which to Draco was a clear sign that the boys had been the topic of conversation.

"Hi," said Harry into the sudden silence, heading for the cold cupboard.

"Hi," said the Weaselette. "Could you get some cheese while you're over there?"

Harry glanced back at her. "Sure." He brought bread and cheese and mustard over to the table.

"Ron!" the Mudblood cried, as the Weasel started to cut into the bread. "Get a plate!"

The Weasel sighed and got up to do so, also fetching one for Harry. Really, Draco thought, shuddering, he was a total plebeian. Even the Mudblood had better table manners than he did.

"So what did Professor Snape want?" the Mudblood asked, as Harry and the Weasel settled down with their sandwiches.

"To test my Occlumency," said Harry. "He couldn't get in. That book you sent me really helped, Hermione, thanks."

She beamed. "You're welcome. I'm so glad. So your head's been better this summer, then?"

Harry rubbed his forehead. "A lot better, yeah. No visits from…Voldie…"

"Are you all right?" the Weaselette asked as Harry's voice trailed off.

Harry shook himself. "Uh, yeah. Something just occurred to me, that's all. I can check it out later, though. Pass the mustard, Ron?"

Inside his head, Draco felt Harry's awareness shift and begin to scan slowly through the mental landscape. He hastily cast his Disillusionment Charm on himself and huddled down as still as possible. The focus of Harry's attention seemed to pass over him, but he did not relax his guard for the rest of the evening.

The Weasel and the Mudblood went off together after snack time was over, and Harry stayed in the kitchen and washed the dishes, just as if he were a servant in his own house. Draco was outraged, even though the Weaselette did stay behind to dry the dishes. Draco didn't like her hanging around Harry anyway – she was annoying.

"So how's Dean?" Harry asked her.

She dimpled at him. "He's fine, as far as I know."

"So when are you going to confess to Ron? I mean, the jig will be up when we get back to school and Dean won't shut up about his holiday in America with his actual girlfriend," said Harry, handing her a plate.

She dried it. "As we get on the train, I guess," she said. "It's kept him off my back all summer – and yours, you know," she added.

"I know," said Harry. "You know, I sort of wish – "

"Harry." Her voice was gentle. "You like who you like. I like who I like. That's not each other, and that's fine. It's a couple of Slytherins, and that's less fine, but that's how it is."

What? The Weaselette wasn't pining away for Potter? Had there been a new world order while Draco wasn't looking?

And she liked a Slytherin? For Merlin's sake, was it Blaise? Were they secretly dating or something? If so, Draco was going to throw up all over Harry's brain.

"That's us Gryffindors – leaping into hopeless situations," said Harry, a little bitterly.

The Weaselette whapped him with her dishtowel. "At least we have good taste – they are beautiful." She grinned. "Draco especially."

Draco gasped.

"Oh, yeah," sighed Potter. "Just as long as he keeps his mouth shut." As Draco was absorbing that, he burst out, "It's just such a waste! He's so smart, how can he not see what Voldemort is really about? How can he just parrot all that bigoted crap about Muggles and Muggle-borns, and – and –"

"Because that's all he was taught," said the Weaselette seriously. "Face it; has he really been given any chance to form an informed opinion?"

"Of course not," said Harry savagely. "Not even by Snape, who you think would want to save him from making his same mistake –"

"You know how careful Snape has to be."

"So what? Draco's going to throw himself away on that slimy madman, because no one he trusts will lift a hand to stop him! He sure as hell wouldn't listen to me!" Harry finished, panting with outrage. "He'd hex me six ways to Sunday first."

_Maybe not…_ Draco thought, stunned.

"Well, he'd try," the Weaselette said solemnly.

Harry took a moment before laughing and flicking water on her. Draco, hurt, sulked and plotted ways to make her see the error of that remark. He could hex Harry anytime he wanted.

He just didn't happen to want to right now, that was all. Yeah.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry took quite a perfunctory shower that night, staring abstractedly at the wall in front of him the whole time. This gave Draco a bad feeling, and he carefully reinforced his Disillusionment Charm, hoping it would be effective under these circumstances.

It transpired that Harry and the Weasel shared a bedroom. Draco couldn't imagine why; it wasn't as though the house wasn't huge. Were other rooms not habitable? Could there be another reason to share a bedroom with the Weasel voluntarily?

The Weasel dropped off to sleep pretty quickly, and Harry settled himself in bed, lying on his back with his arms draped over his middle. Then he took a deep breath and muttered "Clear my mind, he says. I can keep him out, I can clearly keep Voldie out, what more does he want?" He took another deep breath and closed his eyes.

Draco felt Harry's concentration turn inward, and a spike of panic shot through him. What if Harry found him in here? He was definitely not ready for a face to face – so to speak – conversation with him. He made his presence as small and faint as possible, not even daring to test Harry's shields for a weakness for fear Harry would feel it and focus on him.

Gradually the comfortable clutter of Harry's mind seemed to drift into more orderly patterns. Draco could _see_ the shields shifting as this went on, probably getting even stronger. He might as well accept it, he was never getting out of here under his own power. How bad could it be to have Harry find him? At least he'd get out.

And have to deal with his father. And have to deal with Pansy. And have to deal with Blaise.

On the other hand, _not_ have to deal with the Weasel snoring four feet away.

The focus of Harry's attention softened, and Draco realised he had fallen asleep with his mind half-cleared. Vague snippets of thought and memory drifted around him. He ventured to approach the shields and poke them in various places, looking once again for a weakness. There did seem to be a thin spot – a potential crack – zigzagging through it in one place –

Zigzagging?

He poked at it. It started to give under the pressure. Harry moaned in his sleep, and Draco snatched his hand back. Could Harry feel that?

Harry turned over, shivering. Draco looked back at the shield, wondering at the rising sense of menace he could feel outside. Something shadowy moved on the other side, and he recoiled, frantically strengthening his Disillusionment Charm again and instinctively trying to find something to hide behind.

Dimly he heard high-pitched laughter, and Harry moaned again. His ever-present headache was increasing. Draco backed away from the lightning shape he could now see clearly etched in the shield in front of him.

Harry whimpered, there was a soundless flash, and Draco found himself in a torchlit room surrounded by cloaked and masked people. A taller and infinitely scarier figure stood just beside him, hood thrown back to reveal the horrible reptilian face and mad red eyes. On Draco's other side was Harry, clad in his pyjamas and scowling, hands clasped to his forehead.

Harry and Draco traded shocked looks.

"Welcome, my faithful!" cried Voldemort, raising both arms in the air. The huge snake beside him lifted several coils' worth of herself into the air and hissed.

"What news do you have for me?" Voldemort purred, beckoning to a nearby Death Eater.

The person strode forward – Draco, with shock, recognised that walk, he'd know it anywhere – and knelt before the Dark Lord. As Draco stared, his father _kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe!_ Not only that, he remained on his knees, obviously waiting for permission to rise.

Draco's fear was nearly swallowed by disgust.

"The Potter boy escaped, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy said evenly.

"Crucio!" Voldemort snapped, and Lucius pitched over on his side, writhing and uttering short, choked-off screams. Harry moaned and clutched his forehead harder. After a minute, Voldemort lifted the curse and called, "Zabini!"

Two figures approached and kissed the hem of his robe. Clearly Blaise's ambitions had borne fruit.

"You assured me your plan was foolproof," Voldemort said to them, leaving them kneeling at his feet. Lucius lay a few feet away, completely disregarded. "You promised me Potter's death."

Blaise was visibly shaking under his robe and mask. _Serve him right_, Draco thought viciously. "I – I'm sorry, my Lord," he quavered.

"Sorry?" Voldemort echoed. "Crucio!"

Blaise dropped screaming to the floor. Beside Draco, Harry grunted with pain. His face was twisted with it; Draco felt an echo of it himself, though thankfully muted.

Voldemort turned to Zabini Senior. "Explain."

Blaise's father appeared to have no trouble ignoring his son, who was screaming himself hoarse and thrashing like a mad thing. "The charm worked upon the family, and they began to thin the wards with their treatment of Potter. Last night the wards were thin enough for us to pinpoint Potter himself, and to get curses through. My son immediately cast the Killing Curse."

Rather absently, Voldemort flicked his wand, and the hoarse, barely human sounds Blaise had been making were cut off abruptly. Draco eyed his friend with trepidation. This was the glory of serving the Dark Lord? His own father had yet to get up from the floor.

"Potter livessss," Voldemort hissed.

Zabini Senior shifted nervously. "Yes, my lord. He managed to duck my son's curse, and was immediately thereafter Portkeyed out of the house. We cannot find him."

"Crucio!" Voldemort shouted, and Blaise's father fell to the floor, howling in pain.

Harry bent double, still clutching his forehead. "Not much imagination, Voldemort," he gasped, addressing Draco directly.

Draco started. "No," he said cautiously. Harry gave him an unreadable look, squinting through his fingers, then turned back to Voldemort as the Dark Lord ended the curse on Blaise's father.

"Rissse, Luciusss," he said next, still hissing. "Where is your son? You told me he would succeed where the Zabini boy would fail, yet he is not even here."

"My son has failed us, my Lord," said Lucius, bowing his head submissively. Draco sucked in his breath. "He is unworthy of the name Malfoy. He is, of course, yours to do with as you please."

_What?_

"Bring him to me," said Voldemort. "If he cannot serve me as you do, he will serve as an example to others."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lucius.

"Rise, Lucius. Go. Bring me your son."

Lucius bowed and Disapparated.

Draco couldn't get any air. Unworthy of the name Malfoy? How dare Lucius say that, when he crawled before this subhuman thing!

"I've got to wake up," Harry was muttering. Draco looked over at him just as his eyes opened as wide as they would go and all colour drained from his face.

"How good of you to join ussss," Voldemort hissed, and Draco realised in what was probably the most perfect moment of horror he had ever experienced in his life that the Dark Lord was aware of his and Harry's presence. "You're just in time. Wormtail!"

Harry clenched his fists. "Wake up, wake up, wake up," he was muttering.

Voldemort laughed. "You're mine, Potter," he said. "Ah, see…" Wormtail had dragged a boy about Harry's and Draco's age before the assembled Death Eaters. He had dark hair – not as dark as Harry's – and green eyes – though not as bright as Harry's. Still, there was a resemblance.

"Who the hell are you people?" he shouted, struggling.

"Petrificus Totalis," said Voldemort lazily, and the boy froze in place. "Observe your fate, Potter. Show him, my faithful!"

And Draco, as well as Harry, froze in horror as every wand was turned on the boy, and curses flew from all directions. Harry screamed and screamed as the boy was reduced to little more than red jelly on the floor of Voldemort's lair. Draco screamed right along with him.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

Never had Draco been so glad to hear the Weasel's voice. Harry jackknifed up in bed, sobbing and retching, and the Weasel got a basin under him in what seemed a very practised move.

The door burst open and Lupin hurtled into the room, followed by Professor Snape. The Professor wasted no time in approaching Harry and pulling up his chin so he could look deeply into his eyes. "Legilimens!" he snapped, and Harry sobbed again.

Professor Snape's focus swept comprehensively though Harry's mind and out again, and he dropped Harry's chin and turned for the door.

Lupin had his arms around Harry and was stroking his back; Harry was shaking as though he'd been electrified. "Malfoy," he croaked, scrubbing at his eyes. "Voldemort's going to kill Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?" Lupin said, clearly startled. "Why on earth…Severus!" But Professor Snape had gone.

"He knows," said Harry, trying to get himself under control. "He saw it in my head. Oh, God, Oh, God…" and he bent over and retched again.

Dumbledore appeared in the doorway. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked.

"Does he look all right?" Draco shouted, still very shaken himself.

Harry gave a bizarre sort of hiccuppy chuckle, then sobbed again, uncontrollably. "I'm – all right, Professor," he managed, nevertheless.

"What did you see?" Dumbledore asked.

The Weasel actually glared at the Headmaster. "Give him some time, sir," he said angrily.

"It's okay, Ron," said Harry after a minute, sitting up a bit straighter. Lupin handed him a glass of water and he sipped carefully. "Sorry, Professor. Th – that's the first time he's gotten in all summer. We – we were right about the plan – about the Dursleys. It was Blaise Zabini and his dad."

"Take your time, Harry," said Lupin soothingly, helping Harry sit back onto his pillows. The Weasel Scourgified the nasty basin.

"He – he tortured the Zabinis for not killing me," Harry said softly. "Then he – he had this boy – " He broke down and sobbed again.

Dumbledore sighed and came forward to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm sorry, my boy," he said. "Sorry I can't protect you from him as I should."

"Damn right you should be sorry," Draco muttered. "Useless old man."

Harry grabbed Dumbledore's hand and looked up at him urgently. "Please don't let him get Dr – Malfoy," he said, voice clogged and hoarse from all the screaming and crying.

"Professor Snape is already doing what he can," said Dumbledore, patting Harry's hand.

"He can come here," Harry said, earning an incredulous glare from the Weasel and proud looks from Dumbledore and Lupin.

"That's very generous of you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Try to rest now." He left the room. Lupin helped Harry settle down in bed and conjured a cool cloth to sponge his face. After a few minutes he, too, left the room.

"You're really going to let Malfoy come here, Harry?" said the Weasel from his own bed.

"His Dad just gave him to Voldemort to be killed, Ron," said Harry wearily, causing the full impact of that very thing to come crashing in on Draco now that all the distractions had gone. He felt sick with rage and fear.

The Weasel shook his head. "You and your saving people thing," he said. "He'd just better be grateful, that's all."

Draco was feeling many things at the moment, but grateful was definitely part of the mix.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry slept for a very long time after that, his mind unusually dark and still. There must have been a potion in that water, Draco realised, attempting to distract himself from thinking about what his father had just done. There was really no help for it, though. He had to face it – his father had thrown him away like a broken cup. And why? Draco hadn't been given any grand assignments from either his father or the Dark – Voldemort. So how could he have failed?

Lucius had told Voldemort that Draco would succeed where Blaise failed. That seemed to indicate he'd known about the potion from the beginning. Had Blaise told Draco about it on purpose, then? Or had Lucius just counted on him letting something slip? And why hadn't Lucius told Draco what he wanted him to do?

It wasn't as though it wasn't obvious, though. Find Harry and kill him.

But Harry was Draco's. And Draco wanted him alive, especially now, when he knew Harry reciprocated his interest. Also, Harry was clearly a much better person than Voldemort, or even Lucius. In all their fights, Harry had never cast Cruciatus at Draco, and Draco didn't fool himself that he didn't have the power. Not now that he'd felt that huge uprush of it himself whenever Harry even thought about magic.

He spared a few moments wondering what made Harry suppress his power whenever it rose up like that. Probably some deep psychological reason boiling down to fear, he decided. Harry could crack mountains with what he had, Draco was sure.

Voldemort Cucio'ed people who were on his own side, which struck Draco as a very bad management practise. He couldn't imagine what kept people loyal to the hideous thing. He wasn't even human! Could he really be that powerful? Or did he just talk a good game?

Well, he did talk a good game. Eliminate the Muggle threat to wizards, elevate the Purebloods to their rightful exalted place – but then he made Purebloods crawl before him and kiss the hem of his robe and submit to Cruciatus. With that example of Voldemort's veracity before him, could Draco believe without question what he said about Muggles, either?

Bigoted crap, Harry had called it.

Draco had to admit, there were few more skilled witches than Hermione Granger. He ought to know, coming in second to her every blasted year of school. He'd never actually met any Muggles – well, he'd "met" Harry's relatives, but then there had been the woman who wanted to help Harry as well, when she didn't know him, or even know _of_ him. To her, he'd just been a scrawny kid getting beaten up by a bigger one; she'd had no idea that Harry had the power to reduce his cousin to component bits with a thought.

Voldemort would do that. Harry never would, though, Draco realised. He would never use that power against people who didn't have it. Or even, really, against people who did have it, like Draco himself. He had offered Draco sanctuary, and as far as he knew Draco would try to kill him the moment he laid eyes on him.

_So he's a decent person, he's incrediby powerful, he's sexy, and he's apparently interested in me,_ Draco listed to himself. _He might also have some good points about Voldemort and his beliefs. He's still a foolhardy Gryffindor._

_MY foolhardy Gryffindor._

_And damn it, when is he going to wake up? I want to know what's going on!_

With Harry asleep, Draco was reduced to getting his information solely through what he could hear, which wasn't much, as naturally everyone was trying to be quiet and let Harry rest. Time marched on, and Draco became more and more agitated.

"It'll be okay," said Harry suddenly – and there he was, in front of Draco, still in his horrible pyjamas and looking very solemn.

Draco squawked, "Harry?"

Harry smiled a little. "Draco," he said. "Since we're apparently on a first name basis suddenly. Yes, it's me."

"Oh, Merlin," said Draco, still staring.

Harry frowned a little. "It's really you, isn't it?" he said. "Not a dream."

"Not a dream," Draco echoed. In all the scenarios he'd entertained about when Harry found him, this had never happened. Harry seemed quite calm and unsurprised.

Harry was starting to look uneasy, though. "Why _are_ we on a first name basis?" A sudden wave of mortification suffused his mind – the very atmosphere around them blushed. "How long have you been here? Did – did we -?" He took a step backward.

Recklessly, Draco stepped forward, seized Harry around the waist, and kissed him hard. They were both gasping when he lifted his head. "That answer your question?" he replied, smirking.

"Oh, God," Harry muttered, but then laced his fingers behind Draco's neck and dragged his mouth back to his. Draco kissed back with enthusiasm. This was getting better and better!

After a minute Harry pulled away, but he didn't step very far back, only studied Draco with an unreadable expression. Then he smiled slightly. "So, it seems like you didn't object too much," he observed.

"Definitely not," said Draco. "Although you owe me a shag."

Harry raised a brow. "I owe you? Let's leave that for the moment and come speeding back to 'what are you doing in my head, M - Draco?'"

Draco swallowed. Harry was starting to look a bit angry. "What do you think I'm doing here?" he asked, trying to stall for time.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's see. Pinpoint my location for Voldemort, maybe? Sabotage my Quidditch game? Just drive me mad?"

Draco grinned in spite of his worry. "I'm not here for Voldemort, I can tell you that, Harry."

"Really."

Okay, he couldn't have expected Harry to just believe him, right? "Really I suppose I just wanted to drive you mad," he confessed suddenly, tired of fencing. Harry had made sure someone would rescue him from being sacrificed to Voldemort, had offered him a place to stay. He supposed he owed him the truth for that.

Harry nodded. "But you didn't do it," he said.

Draco smiled ruefully. "Don't give me too much credit," he said. "I couldn't make you notice me. I couldn't even get into your head until you hit it at the playground."

Harry's hand came up to rub the back of his head, and a look of enlightenment crossed his face. "You cast the Stinging Hexes," he said, and Draco nodded. Then Harry scowled. "So what did you think of my idyllic home life?" he asked sarcastically.

"I wanted to hex those Muggles into jelly," said Draco, before he thought. Harry turned white. "But I didn't!" Draco cried, stepping forward and catching the other boy in his arms again. "I wouldn't really. I wouldn't!"

Harry didn't pull away, but he didn't respond, either. They stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Draco cast about for a change of subject.

"So who's the Weaselette interested in?" he asked.

Harry pulled back and looked up at him. "Don't call her that," he said shortly. "No more Weasel remarks from you."

Draco said nothing, not exactly ready to apologise or acknowledge any right on Harry's part to tell him what to do, but sorry he'd mentioned it anyway.

"What did you think of the Death Eaters?" Harry asked him quietly.

Draco scowled. "They disgust me. Crawling before that hideous – "

"Half-blood," Harry put in with a little smile.

_"What?"_

"Oh, yes. His father – whom he's named after, by the way – was a Muggle," said Harry. "Tom Riddle, Senior."

"Tom Riddle?" Draco echoed. "Wait, wasn't he a Slytherin Head Boy fifty years ago?"

"That was Tom Riddle, Junior – Lord Voldemort," said Harry. "That would be when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and got Myrtle killed. And framed Hagrid for it."

Draco sat down suddenly. "How do you know all this?"

"I saw that stuff in his diary," said Harry, sitting down across from him. "The one your Dad slipped to Ginny Weasley."

Draco turned his face away. "Don't talk about my Dad."

"Whatever," said Harry.

They sat in silence for awhile. Then Harry said, "So how were you able to be there to get into my head in the first place? And why are you still here?"

"I got stuck," said Draco sourly. Harry grinned suddenly. "Behind those outstanding Occlumency shields. As to how I got here, I was out of my body. Blaise made this potion – "

"Blaise?" And Draco could see the suspicion rising in Harry's expression. Subtle, he was not.

"I wasn't in on his little plan," he snapped. "I think he was using me, actually. I'll be sure and make him pay for that, too."

"I don't think you'll need to bother," said Harry dryly, and Draco's stomach dropped; he had forgotten the condition Blaise had been in when Voldemort released his curse.

"He made a potion," he said in more subdued tones. "It was supposed to combine Imperius and Legilimency, but he got it wrong. He told me it was for a project, so I was working with him on it. The version I took – well, it changed my blood."

Harry looked rather creeped out at that. "How?"

"The way the potion works, you go out of your body and into the mind of your target. You experience through their senses, see their thoughts and dreams, everything. You can plant suggestions that work with the force of Imperius." At Harry's look of horror, he added, "Except on you, apparently. You throw off Imperius too well, I guess. But I used it on my father."

"Really?" Harry looked intrigued. "What did you make him do?"

"Eat raspberries." At Harry's look, he clarified, "He hates raspberries. I never get to have them at home."

"Okay then," said Harry.

"So it stays in your body for two days, then cycles out and leaves you with the worst headache you've ever had." Harry raised a brow. Draco said, "I guess you know what that's like. I can do all that without taking the potion and thus, without the headache. I don't think I _can_ cast Legilimens the normal way anymore.

"When I went after you, your shield kept bouncing me back until you hit your head. Then I got in, but your shield went back up, and I was stuck behind it," Draco concluded.

"So you've just been watching my life? My…dreams?" Harry asked, looking disturbed.

"No choice, Harry, so yes." Hoping to lighten the mood, he waggled his eyebrows. "Some of those dreams were quite interesting."

Harry blushed. "I bet."

"Come on, Harry," said Draco. "Why do you think I was after you in the first place? Glad to see we had similar ideas."

Harry brightened. "Yeah? Why don't you show me some of your ideas, then?"

Draco crawled towards him. Just before reaching for Harry, though, he said, "I thought you'd be angrier."

Harry shrugged. "I am angry. I'm furious. But I can see your mind now as clearly as you see mine." Well, _that_ was disturbing, but Draco forced that aside. "I know you haven't harmed me, nor mean to. And I'm – glad you got to see what Voldemort's really like before it was too late. The rest can wait."

"Yeah," said Draco soberly. Put that way, he really had had a narrow escape. From Voldemort, anyway.

"About those ideas?" Harry reminded him, with a grin. Draco grinned back and threw himself on top of the smaller boy.

Harry still tasted deliciously of chocolate. Kissing him when they were both aware of each other was even better than their previous shared fantasies. Harry was again more aggressive than he'd been in Draco's imagination, but Draco found he didn't mind. He definitely didn't mind Harry's roaming hands, and made sure to give as good as he got.

Harry's fingers had just closed around Draco's cock when he disappeared and there was a disorienting rush. Seconds later Harry opened his eyes and there was the Weas - Ron Weasley hovering over him, hand still on his shoulder, which he'd obviously shaken.

"Ron?" Harry said, rubbing his eyes.

"Are you all right" Ron asked, handing him his glasses. "Only you were moaning in your sleep."

"Dammit, of course he was moaning!" Draco shouted, seething with frustration and reawakened fear.

"I'm okay," Harry said, swinging his legs out of bed. "Remind me to have a word with Professor Lupin about slipping me potions, though. What's going on?"

"Well, Snape is back," said Ron, following Harry out the door and down the stairs. "He's a little banged up. You know, it didn't occur to me last night, but he wasn't at the Death Eater meeting. He was here."

"That's right!" Harry exclaimed, stopping dead at the foot of the stairs. Ron almost bowled him over. "Why?"

"I dunno, you'll have to ask him," said Ron indifferently. "He didn't get Malfoy, though."

Harry stopped again. "Voldemort got him?" Sheer horror suffused his mind. Draco was gratified.

"Nah," said Ron, urging Harry forward again. "Tonks and Shacklebolt got him when they visited Malfoy Manor. Rescued Snape, too, he was trying to get Malfoy away from his Dad at the time. But there's something wrong with Malfoy."

"Where is he?" Harry demanded.

"In here," said Ron, steering him into a small sitting room on the first floor. Moments later Draco was once again gazing down at his own body.

He was wearing a robe, but his hair was tangled and lank, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Except for the very faint rise of his breath, he looked dead.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, looking up from where he was holding Draco's body's wrist, presumably checking his pulse. "He's alive, but – "

"Let me see him!" Professor Snape snarled from the doorway, and shoved Harry aside to fall to his knees beside Draco's body. He laid his forehead against Draco's and muttered "Legilimens."

"He's gone," Dumbledore murmured, as Professor Snape jerked back. Draco was surprised and rather touched at his favourite Professor's devastated expression.

"Too late," Professor Snape whispered. "I was too late."

"We think we was Kissed by a Dementor, Harry," said Lupin. Then, "Harry?"

Harry had approached Draco's body and knelt down. Now he put his forehead against Draco's body's forehead, and took a deep breath.

"Harry?" said Draco.

"Ready?" said Harry. "Off you go, then." And he dropped his shield.

Draco's mind surged back into his body, which shuddered all over. He struggled to open his eyes, hearing the amazed shouts of the other people in the room and feeling Harry's grip on his hand.

At long last, he got his eyes open. Professor Snape was looking stunned, Ron Weasley resigned, Professor Dumbledore delighted.

"Welcome, Mr Malfoy," the old man said.

"Thanks," Draco croaked. Harry Potter smiled down at him and squeezed his hand. Draco returned the smile and the squeeze. He was safe.

_Finis_


End file.
